A Simple Kiss
by Ravenclaw992
Summary: "Imagine being the lucky couple to share the first kiss of the New Year." What would be the harm, really? It was just a simple kiss. Unless Emma begged for more. As the countdown to midnight stretches on, however, Gold realizes it might be easier said than done as the other lovely couples of Storybrooke compete for that first kiss. One word: sabotage. Golden Swan/Hopping Red.
1. 7:45

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time, nor do I own any of the characters. Everything belongs to ABC. **_

_**A/N: Hello, fine readers. Many people who read my Golden Swan Christmas fic recently suggested that I do something special for New Year's. So, here it is. Much in the vein of my Christmas story, I hope it will be a fun little fic that everyone can enjoy. **_

_**It takes place sometime after the curse breaks and it's a little bit AU in the sense that it does not follow the second season very closely. **_

_**A Simple Kiss**_

_Another year gone, _Mr. Gold mused quite morosely as he arrived at the diner for the New Years' party that Granny and Red agreed to host. It had been Henry's idea—to change up the routine of their boring, hazy lives and embrace the idea of a year that would not be a replica of the past twenty-eight.

Stealthily his eyes roamed to the clock; it was 7:45. The party had rightly begun at 7:30, but he always did enjoy being fashionably late. It allowed him the chance to make an entrance.

Everywhere, people commented on nothing but the rate in which time flew by nowadays. He didn't see the cause for celebration—he stopped counting the years at least a century ago. He especially hated to be reminded that it was one additional year that he was without his son.

The air of celebration, however, was heightened this year due to the curse breaking. Families reunited for the holidays, lovers joined together once more in each other's arms, children were returned to their parents. It would be the first New Year that they could all be free of the chains wrought under the Queen's curse.

The diner had been lavishly decorated for the occasion, but he expected no less from a youthful spirit such as Red.

Silver streamers spiraled down from the ceiling; banners plastered the forest wallpaper and reminded everyone of the upcoming New Year; Granny sported neon green glasses with 2013 shaping the frames. A television had been set up in the corner so they could watch the ball drop at midnight. Grumpy lingered in front of it, hopelessly trying to explain it to Nova, that klutz of a fairy.

"But I don't recall watching this miraculous ball drop before," she protested, motioning vaguely to the flickering television screen. Grumpy rested a hand on her arm to calm her down.

"That's because we were stuck in time, remember? And you have little knowledge of it because of your true self waging war on your mind. According to Emma's friend Google, we count down the last seconds of the year, that shiny ball drops, and then that's it. It'll be the New Year before you know it." Nova stared hard at the screen as though watching it happen.

"But…what if the ball gets stuck on the way down?" Grumpy tossed his head back and chuckled, as if it were the most ridiculous thing he'd heard all night.

"It can't possibly get stuck, sister. Otherwise…I mean, obviously…someone would have to…." She gave him an uncertain stare. He whirled to Charming sitting in a booth beside him and nudged his arm. "Charming, tell her the ball can't get stuck." Charming glanced up from smiling at his true love and offered Grumpy a blank look.

"Uh….ball?" Grumpy pointed his finger to the television screen. The prince's face flashed with recognition. "Oh, the ball! No, it can't get stuck, Nova. Google said so. I'd swear my life on it."

Gold observed the exchange from afar and shook his head in amazement as he approached the bar. _If I were Charming, which I'm glad I'm not, I wouldn't bet my life away so easily. What ever would Snow White do without him? Besides not have someone to play a rousing game of hide and seek with? _

"Happy New Year," Red chirped from behind the bar where she was preparing trays of food and drinks for the guests.

From what he could see, the choices consisted of mugs of beer and baskets of chips. From her earlobes dangled a set of silver earrings that were shaped in the numbers of the New Year—2013. He leaned his cane against a stool, settled into a seat, and smirked at her. _Still playing waitress, are you? _

"Not yet, dearie," he corrected, if only to drain some of her bottled excitement. No such luck. She practically leaped over the table at him, her small warm hand catching his icy, rough one.

"Right, but it's close. Can't you feel it in the air?" She grinned, flashing a sharp set of white teeth his way. He peered over the length of the bar to see her bouncing on her toes. _Granny should tie a block of cement to her feet or she'll float away. _

He could feel something in the air, but he chalked it up to Red's hairspray, Regina's black cloud of a mood, and perspiration. His brown eyes traveled over the thickening crowd of guests, the chatter drowning out their conversation.

"I believe Snow White and her dear prince are doing enough feeling for all of us," he remarked. Red's attention snapped to the lovebirds in question. Occupying a red pleather booth, Charming and Snow weaved their fingers together over the tabletop, hardly able to keep their eyes off each other. How romantic.

"I'm happy for them," Red gushed with a blissful sigh. Of course she'd be satisfied—she'd just been promoted to Emma's godmother. At least she was the kind without wings. "Speaking of the Charmings…"

In his ear, Red began humming a marriage theme and pointedly eyed the entrance to the diner. The diner's door opened, the little bell's chime lost in the murmur of the crowd. All he saw was red and gold, enough to snag his attention.

In walked Emma and little Henry, who immediately made a beeline for the lovebirds. Emma must have sensed his gaze on her back, for she turned her head and those green gems connected with his. She gave a weak half-smile, but not an overly friendly one.

He knew she'd been avoiding him at all costs and he didn't truly blame her after all he had put her through.

He'd flaunted the fact that she finally believed in the curse, thrust a sword in her hand, had her fight a dragon clearly during an inconvenient time of the month, and stranded her in an elevator shaft while her child lay in a hospital bed dying due to a sleeping curse originally meant for their blessed savior in the first place. At this rate, he was pleasantly surprised that she hadn't bombarded his house with bricks.

"Imagine being the lucky couple to share the first kiss of the New Year," Red purred with increasing anticipation. His focus remained on Emma as she slid into the booth beside Charming. "I'll bet Snow and Charming will be the ones to do it. Share the first kiss, I mean. They're practically inches away from locking lips right now."

Oh, no. He wasn't walking—or limping—into that trap.

He could predict Red all too well, whether she was playing the role of Ruby or not. To him, nothing really changed in the long run; they were one and the same. Unless you were unfortunate enough to be Charming, whose counterpart was a weak, bumbling idiot at best. Right now, he understood the hook Red was casting out and he wasn't biting. Not even a nibble.

"Or it could be one of us," she hinted. Didn't she have food to prepare? Drinks to serve? Moons that required howling? He rolled his eyes and offered her an unmoving, stony expression.

"After that bet last Christmas, the last thing I intend to do is get involved with any more of your childish games," he insisted. Slightly perturbed, Red raised an inquisitive eyebrow, challenging his words. She blew a strand of her red-streaked hair out of her eyes. She hadn't yet resorted to hair dye.

"Isn't that what most of your customers say? They don't want to get involved with you? And yet they're desperate enough to go to you, anyway," she pointed out. _You can't fight the inevitable, _the underlying meaning rang in his ears.

He gazed longingly at Emma and fantasized sharing that first kiss of the New Year with her. Wouldn't the townsfolk be surprised? The savior and Rumpelstiltskin, a dangerous match. He snickered as he imagined the expressions of horror on the faces of her parents.

"Please, dearie. If the two of us competed for the first kiss of the New Year, I think we both know who would come out victorious." Red seemed to size him up and he wondered if she was ranking him in her head on a scale of one to ten. She did that with most men in town as Ruby, but he never heard what his score was.

"Yeah, I suppose we do," she humbly agreed, her shoulders slumping. Clever girl.

"Me," they announced simultaneously. Their heads jolted up in shock and they wore matching glares as they examined each other. He made a show of roving his eyes about the diner. "Is there an echo in here? Because for a moment I could have sworn you claimed _you_ would win."

"I did say that," Red returned boldly, ignoring his narrowing eyelids. He scowled in distaste, but she brushed that off, too. "Archie and I are ten times more likely to kiss than you and Emma." He winced at the haughty tone of her voice. So young, so confident. So naïve.

"Let's not exaggerate the truth, dearie. You and Archie haven't even shared your first kiss yet," he argued, his fingers curling over his knees under the bar. Oh, did he loathe it when someone dared question his abilities. Did Red honestly think him not good enough to warrant a kiss from Emma Swan?

Red's ebony irises brightened considerably and he knew he only succeeded in adding fuel to the fire burning deep inside her heart.

"To your knowledge," she countered. "What better time to have our first kiss than to share it as the first kiss of the New Year, then? Every first kiss needs a memorable detail." And he hated it when someone used his words, too. He had a feeling Red had been connecting with the wretched cinder-girl too much.

In the corner, Emma brushed her golden waves over her leather-clad shoulder and smiled down at Henry across the table. Oftentimes, the notion of getting into Emma's good favor was too valuable to resist. It would be worthwhile, after he had inevitably struck a rough patch in whatever fragile acquaintance they had forged.

And wouldn't it be something, to succeed in sharing the first kiss of the New Year with Emma? To perhaps bring her closer to him, convince her not to hold him within arm's length? The pros definitely outweighed the cons in his mind.

What would be the harm, really? It was just a simple kiss. Unless Emma begged for more. _Very well—I'll bite. _

Decision made, he deliberately leveled a steady gaze at Red, who was clicking her nails patiently, and his lips split apart in a toothy smile. She skittered back immediately, red lips flattening in a distrustful line. No more clicking.

"May the best couple win," he declared. Red planted her hands on her hips and nodded once, accepting his challenge. This could prove to be fun. Perhaps it would add a little spice to an expectedly dull party.

Red rushed off to serve the first tray of drinks and food to the guests, each one greeting her with a smile and wish of a happy new year. Scanning the room, he made significant mental notes regarding the potential competition. If he had any chance of succeeding in this little game, it was best to know his enemy.

No doubt Red and Archie would turn out to be his main opponents, even if Archie was currently unaware of the minefield he'd been launched into. Red would likely be suspicious in case he tried anything funny to up the odds, and she would ultimately do everything in her power to ensure that she and Archie shared that first kiss. He was thankful tonight wasn't a full moon.

Then there were the lovebirds. The head-over-heels, kissing in the street, "I will always find you" true love sweethearts. A perfect fairy-tale couple, weren't they? Nothing but hearts, doves, and rainbows. It made him want to brush his teeth until the gums ached. He was pretty sure he'd already suffered a cavity just by looking in their direction.

Another tricky variable, nonetheless. And knowing those two, they wouldn't be able to keep their lips apart for too long. He was certain Regina still had tongue marks on her mirror. They had twenty-years of lost time to make up for. Something would have to be done about the lovebirds, indeed.

Oh, yes. His mind was sailing into treacherous waters now. There was no stopping it, no turning back.

It was critical that he must impress Emma enough to earn that kiss at the end of the night, but he couldn't very well stitch his hip to her hip and hope their lips met first, could he? He wasn't the "sit around and pray" type. Oh, no—this was a tender matter that may very well call for a little…sabotage. _Insert evil laugh here. _He almost giggled.

He'd presented the challenge to Red, had agreed to take part in her game. He never gave his word that he would play nice. Four hours to go.

It was only unfortunate that New Years' didn't come with mistletoe.

…

_**And so the game has begun. What will Gold do to gain that kiss from Emma? You shall see. Hope everyone had a decent Christmas/holiday! **_


	2. 8:00

_**A/N: Hello, fabulous readers out there. I hope you all had a wonderful New Year's and got to celebrate with your family and friends. This chapter is a mighty one, indeed. I'm glad there are so many people that are already fond of it. So, enjoy!**_

_**8:15 p.m. **_

Impressing Emma was easier said than done.

It took great patience to battle against her constant dismissals. Patience was a tricky quality that went back and forth with him—some days he was blessed with it and other days he was cursed with not having enough of it. A dragon would be easier to court than their lovely savior on most days.

Today, he was leaning toward impatience as the clock began ticking down the measly four hours to midnight. Four hours to get on Emma's good side. Theoretically, he supposed he could just tackle her at midnight and plant a passionate kiss on her lips…but he feared he'd lose his family jewels in the process.

Better to do this nice and slow. Or at least somewhere in the timeframe of four hours.

It also did him no good to know that he was currently one of the top three on Emma's hate list after everything that was necessarily done to break the curse. They had yet to discuss the events that had occurred and where he stood in terms of her trust.

What better time to have that conversation than a New Year's party? It might be a chance to start fresh, make peace. And so, he limped toward the booth their savior shared with Henry and her doting parents. He hoped they weren't making up for lost time in their parenting skills by giving Emma the 'stranger-danger' talk.

With the hollow tap of his cane, the four of them lifted their heads, each face contorting with suspicion.

"Emma," he leisurely drawled for good measure. He adored the way her name rolled off his tongue. If he still had that scrolled covered with Emma's name, he'd give it to her. Would she be impressed by that or intimidated? "Fancy meeting you here."

Emma glanced around the diner warily, as though they were somewhere other than the town's New Year's party. Or maybe she was searching for Red for a little help with unwanted patrons. Resting her arms flat on the table, she boldly locked eyes with him. Her cockiness was pleasing.

"Hmm…fancy that," she agreed. She gave him a critical once-over from his dusty brown hair to the length of his suit. He let her look, spreading his feet slightly apart to pose. "Here I figured you'd be plotting complicated, diabolical plans in the basement of your little pink house."

He grimaced unpleasantly. That was it—his New Year's resolution was going to be re-painting that house. Annoyed, he tapped his cane against the tiled linoleum floor.

"You must be going color-blind, Emma. Last time I checked, my house was _salmon_. Not pink," he retorted, grinding his teeth. She gave him a dubious look. There was no stopping the flow of words now. It boiled inside him until he practically burst. "Bubble gum is pink, Pepto-Bismol is pink, Sleeping Beauty's dress was pink. By that definition, my house is _not _pink."

Four pairs of concerned eyes stared blankly at him after his unexpected rant. Twenty-eight years of hearing the Mayor taunt him about the shade of his house—a shade she purposely chose for her own amusement—had been bottled up for far too long. He wiped his sleeve across his brow, regaining control of his senses.

Where was his beloved Dark Castle when he needed it?

"I always remembered Sleeping Beauty's dress being blue," Charming said, his eyebrows knitting together in his concentration. Technically, it was David who recalled the Disney tale, but he figured it best not to revive that confused bloke. "Does this mean you'll be painting your house blue?"

Snow White sighed and placed a comforting hand over Charming's, patting it.

"Her dress was pink," she insisted, firmly nodding her head. It meant to leave no room for argument, but Charming was firing up, anyway.

"No, it was blue. Sleeping Beauty danced with her prince and _it was blue!_" Snow White's cheeks reddened. She had that defiant gleam in her eyes that existed when she'd been a darker version of herself and wielding a mighty enchanted bow with the intent of killing the Queen.

"It was _pink! _I suppose you think Pepto-Bismol is blue, too?" Gold observed the lovebirds' dispute with growing fascination. Honestly, he hadn't even aimed for sabotage yet, but here they were arguing like an old married couple. _I guess I am that good, after all. Sheer brilliance. _

Even Henry was sitting up straighter in his seat and engaged in the tennis match between his grandparents.

"It should have been green," he insisted. They stared at him in shock, as if suddenly remembering he was there. Their faces mirrored wonder and outrage at the same time.

"_Green?" _Emma shifted her body away from her parents and ignored their bickering. He could tell it unnerved her to see her parents going at it so close after breaking the curse. They were supposed to be the purest true love couple, susceptible to simple matters such as this.

"Gold, I don't care if your house is tickle me pink or Little Mermaid red," she shot back, her irritation coming through loud and clear. Licking his lips, he decided it was time to get down to business.

"May I speak with you?" Emma narrowed her eyes curiously. He was good at masking his intentions—if she wished to understand his purpose, she'd have to comply. She waved a hand aside in invitation.

"Nothing's stopping you so far," she pointed out.

He tentatively glanced at Snow and Charming, who were well-known for being protective of their friends and family. After all, Snow had been the one to pull a sword on the Queen after she crashed their wedding. That napkin dispenser was beginning to look rather unfriendly.

"May I speak with you…privately?"

Like a shot of gunfire, all banter of blue and pink dresses ceased. He was the sole object of the Charmings' scorn. Protectively, Charming placed a steady hand on his daughter's shoulder while Snow took it upon herself to wrap an arm around Henry and urge him closer to her side.

"Anything you need to say to Emma can be said in front of her father," Charming declared. Unbeknownst to him, Emma rolled her green eyes to the ceiling, the words _Oh, Dad, _lingering on her lips. He pointed a finger to his chest in clarification. "That's me."

"Are you sure about that?" It was always amusing, ruffling Charming's feathers. Puffing out his chest valiantly, he appeared ready to turn his fork into a sword.

"Positive," he returned confidently. His crystal blue eyes twinkled for Snow. A memory prodded Gold's brain from long ago. Oh, the chance for sabotage was much too good to resist. Emma may think less of him for this, but…

"I'm not trying to impugn your responsibilities as a father, Charming." He held up his hands in defense. "I merely wondered if there was some significance to Mary Margaret's one-night stand with Dr. Whale."

The match had been struck and the fire set to the trail of gunpowder. Alarmed, Charming's eyes swiveled to Snow, his hand falling from Emma's shoulder. If Gold didn't know any better, he'd say that the lovebirds hadn't uncovered the skeletons in Mary Margaret and David's closets.

"_Whale?" _ Snow slapped a palm against the tabletop.

"We were cursed!"

Emma's head sank into her hands, her blonde hair cascading around her jaw to hide the way her fingers massaged her temples. Charming's lip drooped in disappointment as he scrutinized his wife. _If I were a Disney villain, this would be the part where I sing a devilishly catchy tune, rub my palms together, and laugh maniacally, _Gold thought gleefully.

"Snow, that is your excuse for everything lately! No apples to bake apple pie for Thanksgiving? We were cursed. An apartment with virtually no walls? We were cursed. Drinking at the bar, selling candles door-to-door, and making Henry participate in a play about fruits and vegetables? _We were cursed!" _

Henry seemed to overcome his initial astonishment and he stared accusingly up at his grandmother.

"You _kissed _Frankenstein?" Emma lifted her head and gazed at Henry skeptically across the table.

"Frankenstein isn't even a fairy-tale character! I figured he'd be the whale from Pinocchio. Monstro." She cringed immediately afterward, probably haunted by mental images of Snow somehow having a one-night stand with a deep-sea creature. _Well, this has been fun, _Gold mused as he nudged Emma's boot with his cane.

"About that chat…" Emma glared fiercely at him. Now was not the best of times, apparently.

"Haven't you caused me enough grief this year?" She motioned to her disagreeable parents for emphasis. He dared to lean farther over the table until their bodies nearly made contact. Nearly.

"Have I? Let's see….I allowed Miss Ashley—oh, excuse me, _Cinderella—_to keep her child—" Emma held up a finger to signal his attention. Not that she needed even that to do the trick.

"Which cost me a favor. One you're still holding over my head. That doesn't count," she replied briskly. He brushed off her protest like water off a duck. There was more to come.

"The curse is broken, is it not? You are finally a believer, the savior you were meant to be. Henry is not suffering from a sleeping curse any longer and you have been reunited with your long-lost parents. You've also managed to find a home in this provincial town, a privilege that has been denied you your entire life." He ticked the points off on his pianist fingers until his palm was spread open wide in front of Emma's face. "Seems I have presented to you a handful of kindnesses. You of all people should know my policy about reciprocity."

Charming tilted his head quizzically, having caught that last string of words. He was probably thinking Gold's reciprocity demanded something intimate from Emma. For once, the prince would be right.

"In English? Nobody here speaks the language of Dearie." Gold frowned obnoxiously. Luckily, Emma was perceptive enough to translate for him.

"I do not owe you a favor, Gold." _See? She speaks fluent Dearie. _Oh, so she wanted to play it difficult, did she? He always got what he wanted in the end. Leering down at her with the intensity of a vulture, he smirked.

"Perhaps you'll find another way to repay me," he hinted devilishly. He knew the hook would latch into Emma's core; she would not be able to resist asking what devious thoughts were floating around his mind. Even if she was struggling to hold her tongue.

"Like…?" He grinned wider, flashing his teeth. Emma instinctively scooted an inch away on the pleather seat.

"Hypothetically?" Nothing was hypothetical with him and she knew it very well. He made a show of examining his properly trimmed nails. "Let's say…a simple kiss at midnight?"

The moment the request was out, Emma blanched in shock. Charming nearly leapt over the table to urge him away from Emma, his hand outstretched like a stop sign.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! My daughter is _not_ kissing some arrogant, annoying, twisted magic-wielding imp!" Gold recoiled from the harshly flung words and sneered. His fingers curled tighter over the head of his cane. Always ungrateful, that faux-prince. How many times had he honestly aided him? He should be happy to put in a good word for his daughter.

Who else would he suggest? Jefferson?

"Aren't you one to call the kettle black, dearie? Perhaps I should refer to the name you use when writing to the town's advice column. _Hopeless and Confused." _ Charming's mouth dropped open in protest, but Emma sharply demanded silence. Her cheeks flushed a warm shade of pink as she realized how many people were turning their heads their way.

"Enough," she roared. The table fell silent—Snow and Henry's eyes averted from the dealmaker, Charming simmered in his frustration. "If you're on your best behavior, I might consider repaying you," she told Gold reluctantly.

Both Snow and Charming's eyes flew wide open in disbelief. How would they react if Emma invited him over for dinner some night after this? Henry studied Gold distrustfully, as if he thought he would steal Emma away like he planned with Cinderella's baby.

"Turn that _might _into a certainty and you have a deal," he silkily negotiated.

He held out his hand, but Emma never made a move to touch him. The coldness radiated off her in waves. This would be much harder than he thought. At this rate, he would need to be armed with one of the dwarfs' pickaxes to chip through that barrier.

"How about if you can impress me, you'll _earn_ that kiss?" Even better. Despite the hardships and loneliness that inevitably came with being the Dark One, he had learned a thing or two about the affections of women. At least, he thought he did. Then again, that was back when he dressed in leather pants.

"Deal."

And he swiftly turned on his heel to leave the Charmings to their own devices. He couldn't help but chuckle under his breath at the snippets of conversation he overheard over his shoulder. The seed had definitely been planted and sprung up magnificently.

"And what about Kathryn, Charming? You were married to her and she once had a pregnancy scare!"

"We…were…cursed?"

"Exactly."

…

Despite the round of squabbling, Snow and Charming had apparently agreed to disagree. They were still sitting together in the same booth and Charming had relented enough to take Snow's hand into his own and trace circles with his thumb across her skin. Snow murmured something and the prince smiled. _Oh, Charming, how could I ever stay mad at you? You're so handsome! Oh, Snow, even if you ran away with Whale, I would always find you, my love!_

How did you separate the world's purest couple?

When he returned to the bar for a shred of solace, Red's head was bent forward and she was scribbling something on a yellow pad of paper. Her cricket was mingling in the corner with Marco. Out of curiosity, he tried peering over the bar to see what she was writing so furiously. Was she making a list of deceptive tricks, too?

"If you scribble any faster, you'll punch a hole in the paper," he commented. The pencil paused mid-sentence and Red glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. She scrunched her nose and tapped the pencil unnervingly on the bar.

"Great. You made me forget what I was about to write," she scolded, tossing the stub of a pencil away. Tearing off the sheet of paper, she slid it across the bar for him to read. "This is a list of rules for the big New Year's kiss. I know how you appreciate details."

_Indeed, _he thought as his brown eyes scanned over it. His lips quirked at a few of the notions Red had come up with. It was a pretty impressive list already, without his encouragement.

_1. The kiss must be enacted at the stroke of midnight. No early starts allowed!_

_2. No intense make-out sessions within the hour of midnight. Refer to rule 1. _

_3. It must be a legitimate kiss between two people. No pecks on the cheek, no kissing the back of the hand, no French-kissing! No kissing your reflection in the mirror, either—it won't count as two people and you'll look stupid trying. _

_4. The kiss must take place where everyone can witness it—no running off to the bathroom for a private kiss. Be proud of your smooching. _

_5. No forced kisses—no owed favors, no tackling the mate of your choice and applying unwanted affection. It must be willing between both people. No kissing on top of the tables. Granny doesn't need a second heart attack this year. Or a reason to use her crossbow. _

_6. Party games do not count. Spin the bottle and Seven Minutes in Heaven will not win you points. _

_7. No kissing a cut-out of the person you wish to kiss. It is creepy and will not count as a real kiss. _

When he was done reading the list, he read it over again just to be absolutely certain of the rules Red was enforcing. There went his plan to tackle Emma and plant a kiss on her lips. He was surprised that she hadn't considered a rule about interfering with fellow competitors. Maybe the idea of interfering too tempting for her to resist, especially when it concerned him.

"And what is the repercussion should one of us lose? What would you have me do?"

There had to be a catch here somewhere, otherwise Red would not be as excited. Wolves were always slippery about these sorts of games. She gently pried the paper from his fingers and went back to scribbling. A second later, she handed it back to him. A note had been added at the very bottom.

_In the event that there is a winner—meaning that one of us loses—that unfortunate person will celebrate the winner's victory by serving dinner and acting as that lucky couple's personal waiter/waitress for one entire evening. _

The insides of his stomach caved in. If Red managed to come out victorious, he would have to serve her and Archie on a date. How humiliating would that be? And no doubt Red would milk it for its worth. But if he won…ooh, that would be excellent. _Yes, waitress, bring us some wine. Oh, waitress, Emma requires a chocolate cake, freshly made. _

He was bound to win.

"Agreed," he stated, whisking the paper back. He deliberately dismissed Red's company by shifting away on his stool.

In the corner of the room, Leroy had set up a radio to play music while they waited for midnight to come. Red hurried off to take individual orders for any food or drink. She was almost twirling across the floor like a ballerina.

And he smiled as he went back to watching the lovebirds.

….

"So, is there anyone else that you slept with that I should know about? Sidney?" Charming interrogated Snow as the couple strode up to the bar. They stopped a few stools away from Gold, allowing him to eavesdrop on their heated conversation. Despite the karaoke machine Leroy had found in Granny's closet, he caught almost every word being spoken.

"The Queen's mirror? You must be kidding, Charming," Snow fired back. There was a moment of pause—from the corner of his eye, Charming appeared quite stunned.

"That guy's a _mirror?_ I thought that was just a clever name for his newspaper!" Gold was inches away from doing what this world called a 'facepalm.' Sometimes, David Nolan's cluelessness leaked through. Suddenly, Red slid up to the bar, interrupting their moment.

"Snow, what can I get you?" Friendliness oozed off Red as she inquired about her old friend. Turning slightly on his stool, he watched Snow squeeze her eyes shut for a moment before smiling warmly at the waitress. Headache?

"Just a hot chocolate, Red," she ordered. "With—"

"With a sprinkle of cinnamon," Red finished expertly. She still did that often, due to the endless days of filling the same orders. One of these days, he planned to mess with Red's serving abilities and obnoxiously order something different each day. "I served Mary Margaret for twenty-eight years, remember? You're lucky, too. We're almost out of cinnamon."

While Red dutifully fixed together Snow's hot cocoa, a troublesome idea began to nestle itself deep and comfortably inside Gold's mind. Oh, he shouldn't. He actually liked Snow White a little, even if she was a royal. How could anyone resist that sweet face? But the idea was rooting deep down, slithering along the lobes of his brain, demanding to be satisfied.

This was something of a competition, after all.

Snow White wanted hot chocolate, did she?

Over the bar, while Red was preoccupied with amicably chatting up Snow and Charming, he spied the row of spices and bottles at Red's fingertips. With a brief flourish of his wrist, the bottle of cinnamon and small bottle of Tabasco sauce switched positions, gliding smoothly into their new spots. Red never noticed the exchange,

She also never stated in the rules that magic was not allowed.

Casually, he captured a tortilla chip from the nearest bowl, dipped it in salsa and popped it in his mouth. He waited to see if this would really work. He was relying on the habits of a hazy existence. Red laughed at something Snow said and blindly reached for the bottle of cinnamon. Or, at least, the place where the cinnamon always had been for the past twenty-eight years.

Red poured the sauce into the drink and it dissolved into the chocolate. She put some whipped cream on top and passed it over to Snow.

"One hot chocolate with cinnamon," she announced proudly. _That's what you think, dearie. I hope that drink is hot enough for you, Snow, _he thought wickedly, barely able to hide his smile as he crunched on another chip. Inclining his head, he watched Snow bring the mug to her rosy lips and take a generous sip. How could he resist observing?

"Oh…phew, it's a little hotter than usual, Red. How much cinnamon did you put in?" Red's sultry eyes darkened with confusion.

"Not that much. Just a pinch, like always. At least I think I did…" He saw her reach for the bottle of cinnamon which wasn't cinnamon at all, only to realize what the special ingredient really was. Grabbing up the bottle of Tabasco sauce, the color drained from her face. "Snow, wait—"

It was far too late now. Snow took another sip of cocoa. She would regret it in a second.

Now the fair princess was sweltering and waving her hand frantically in front of her face to cool it off. The apples of her cheeks reddened with heat and her foot tapped against the rail of the bar. Her body squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, unable to handle the burning that was rising inside her.

"Snow? Are you alright?" Charming laid a gentle hand on Snow's elbow, but it jerked out of his grasp as his wife nearly jumped off the stool. He spotted the bottle of hot sauce in Red's hand and his eyes widened. "You put _hot sauce _in her _drink?" _

"I swear, I didn't mean to! That's where the cinnamon always used to be before and I…I guess I…somehow…"

All of a sudden, Red locked gazes with him and he could hear the wheels turning in her head. She studied the row of spices and found the cinnamon right where the Tabasco sauce was before. He was sure there was nothing on his face to convey his trickery, but somehow the dots connected and she knew.

And Snow was putting on an interesting show for the diner, hopping back and forth on her feet and panting. Steam practically rose off her tongue.

"Oh, gods, this is hot!" She scrambled for a drink on the bar, but all she found were mugs of beer. "Why is there nothing but beer? _I need water!" _Snow slapped her hands on the counter in desperation, which only jostled Red more. Frantically, she gestured to the kitchen.

"We're all out of water bottles. The faucet works, but—"

That was all Snow needed to hear in order to dash for the kitchen and stick her mouth under the faucet. Charming gave a miserable groan and glared at the bottle of hot sauce that Red oh so carefully set down in its proper place. Swooping toward Gold, she spoke in a low voice that only his ears could hear.

"If I weren't planning on dropping a tarantula down the Mayor's shirt, this would so be going on the list of rules."

…

He had wandered into the kitchen to check on Snow's fiery battle and came out smiling wider than he had all night. Honestly, he felt like a kid that had visited DisneyLand for their first time. He almost felt guilty that Snow looked so miserable after lifting her head from the kitchen sink.

"My tongue hurts," she murmured as she drifted past, black hair damp from the faucet. He stepped aside to let her through, but she never gave him a second glance. _Good to know, _he thought with a hint of satisfaction. If he was lucky, Snow wouldn't want to kiss anything for a while.

"So did Charming's…after eating lasagna with Madame Mayor that one night," he couldn't resist tossing over his shoulder. He heard the clump of Snow's boots stop in place as she registered what he had just said. "Oh, but you were cursed, remember?"

And then she was charging straight for the stool that held Charming.

"Charming! You ate _lasagna_ with the _Queen?_" The guilty expression on Charming's face confirmed the rumor was true. "The other night when I cooked it, you told me you didn't like lasagna!"

Oh, he could die giggling then and there.

Somehow, he managed to maintain his control as he peered around Granny's narrow kitchen. Even though their rent was paid to him, he had never been inside the diner's kitchen before. He had no reason for it. At the moment, it was blissfully empty, what with everyone enjoying the New Year's party.

Even Granny was busy doing a duet with Archie. _Total Eclipse of the Heart, _from the sound of it.

There were quite a few treasures to be found in Granny's kitchen. It seemed Granny was stocked with everything—extra condiments, ingredients, herbs…and, oh, what was this? Sitting innocently inside a dusty cabinet for…personal use? An April Fool's prank? That woman was not your average granny; that was for sure. He'd have to remember never to order a drink from the diner on April 1st.

In any case, the label fell off his tongue easily as he picked up the surprise product. _Laxatives. This could come in handy. _

Hastily, he pocketed it and imagined the amusement that would inevitably come if Charming ever—

"What the hell are you doing in here?" He froze at the sound of the demanding voice behind him. Turning, he gazed into a pair of emerald eyes that were alight with suspicion. What a surprise, indeed.

"I could ask you the same thing, Miss Swan," he returned swiftly. _Unless you happened to try Red's latest special—extra hot chocolate. I'd be happy to relieve you of some of that heat. _

His carefree retort only set her on edge even more, the muscles of her shoulders tightening. She could use a relaxing massage and he was told once or twice that his fingers were magical.

"I was looking for my…Mary Margaret. Apparently, the hot chocolate was too hot for her to handle tonight," she said, eyeing him up and down. Why was she studying him so expectantly? Did she suspect he had something to do with her mother's drinking problems?

He simply chose to leer down at her calmly. Betray nothing.

"I believe she went that way," he pointed over her shoulder, but she made no attempt to leave. Instead, she raced for him and planted her hands firmly on her hips, efficiently blocking his path.

"You never answered my question. What are you doing in here?" He resisted the urge to pat the pocket containing the laxatives.

Having Emma so close was doing odd things to his senses. After all, she was the savior, capable of great power and accomplishing even greater things. She radiated integrity, strength, and courage—everything he was not. A seductive blend, if ever there was one.

And she did look fabulous in leather; always a bit of a turn-on for him. Gods, he needed to put a bit of distance between them before there was no turning back. He needed to clear his head before breaking the puzzle that was Emma Swan.

"Perhaps I was searching for something to impress you," he offered.

Whirling, he did just that, sizing up the contents of the room. _Crossbow? Dangerous. Cinnamon? Decidedly not. _He plucked a flower from a vase on the counter and held it out to her. Emma stared down at the rose uncertainly before accepting it, their fingers brushing ever so lightly upon meeting at the stem.

"How charming of you," she flatly surmised. She could deny it all she wanted, but he could tell by the pink coloring of her cheeks that she liked it. Had anyone sincerely given her a rose before? "Now what are you _really _doing in here?"

That was Emma for you—forever skeptical and unappreciative of a kind gesture.

"Must I have an ulterior motive for everything?" Emma's stern gaze told him the answer: _yes. _It was only during a full moon that Emma's Charming genes surfaced and she was easily fooled.

"Gold, you have an ulterior motive every time you blink," she shot back. He exhaled deeply through his nose. To tell the truth or not tell the truth? That was the question.

"I suppose you'll just have to frisk me…Sheriff."

The rose quivered in her grip—the turmoil written on her face suggested she was seriously debating whether to put it down and comply with his ultimatum. To his pleasant surprise, she laid it down gently on the counter and motioned for him to spread his arms and legs. A thrill shot along his spine as he leaned his cane against the wall and obediently did as she asked.

Breathing out deeply, her hands started at his shoulders, working over the muscles and smoothing across the length of his right arm. The weight of her touch dipped underneath, teasing the skin of his wrist, then his hand. It blossomed for her, inviting her touch. Curling her fingers away, she moved to his left arm.

All the while, her lips flattened into an anxious line and she worked to avoid looking directly at him, but she was failing horribly. On the other hand, his gaze never strayed from her face at all—it demanded her full-on attention, penetrated that impossibly thick wall until her fingers paused on the silky crook of his elbow.

And she looked up.

Breath quickening in short gasps, she vehemently brushed against the skin of his neck and began patting his chest. Her hands slid into his suit to check for hidden objects. Slipping, dropping, hovering about his belt. Once more, she hesitated in continuing her search, distracted by the heavy onset of his stare.

Those spring green eyes flickered up to his chocolate brown ones and he lifted an eyebrow to challenge her. Slowly, his arms lowered to his sides; one hand reached up and caressed the small of her back and delved underneath the hem of her leather jacket.

"You're clean," she muttered and backed out of his grasp. Spinning on her heel, she went in search of her mother, forgetting all about the rose left abandoned on the counter. Left alone, he breathed in and out, calming his nerves.

If anyone needed an ice-cold glass of water, it was him.

…..

There were only a few ways to daze the Dark One beyond belief.

Judging by the fearful expressions of passersby on the streets, it was rare if anyone possessed the knowledge. But one way for certain was the gentle touch of a woman. It was the reason why Belle had taken him by surprise all those years ago in his castle—for what kind of woman would care to shower affection over the Dark One? Even if he encouraged it and manipulated it, the simplest gesture had a way of sinking deeply into his mind.

Gold could swear he still felt the sensation of Emma's fingertips roaming over his body, burning straight to the bone. Absently, he drifted past Charming with his head cloudy and bemused. The prince lounged on a stool and watched Red get up to do a duet with Archie. Snow was lost in the crowd, silently massaging her burnt tongue every few minutes.

What would Charming do if he realized the most powerful dark being in the realms had just been frisked by his daughter?

"Funny. You claim you're so powerful with your magic. I half-expected you to be up there and wooing the crowd with a song or two," Charming spoke up, gesturing to the small crowded area where karaoke was taking place. Gold grimaced at the idea of having the courage enough to make a fool of himself in front of all of Storybrooke.

"Not much of a singing voice, I'm afraid," he muttered half-heartedly. "Hot drink?"

He took it upon himself to occupy the stool beside Charming and nodded his head toward the untouched mug on the bar. Steam rose from the rim and warmed the prince's handsome face. Blankly, Charming glanced down at it before wrapping his fingers around the handle.

"Not as hot as Snow's, hopefully," he joked lightly. Gold suspected Charming would have surveyed Red like a hawk while she fixed it together.

He dipped a hand inside his pocket and felt around for the laxatives. It was a miracle Emma hadn't carried out her frisking long enough to discover them. Now, how to go about slipping it to Charming?

He cleared his throat to catch the good shepherd's attention. For all his intense curiosity and acknowledgement, the two of them might have been drinking buddies. A laughable notion. Just as Mr. Gold never shared a drink with David Nolan, Rumpelstiltskin had never considered doing so with Charming.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he started, wracking his brain for something to distract Charming with. The prince was smarter than David Nolan. Those cool blue eyes, pieces of a soft summer sky, flashed with indignation.

"Before you say it, no, I am not giving you my daughter's hand in marriage," he announced sharply. It was a good thing Sidney wasn't in earshot or that story would end up on the front page of _The Mirror. _He could see the headlines now: _Here Comes the Bride, All Dressed in Leather. _

Gold leaned back in his seat, baffled by Charming's automatic assumption. How long had this one been swimming around his mind?

"That was not what I was planning to ask," he argued. Then he drew back. "Why? Would you be willing to reconsider?" The deathly scowl on Charming's lips proved that to be a definite negative. Gold whistled lowly. "Alright, then. My question is not so blunt. How do you…slay a dragon?"

He had no plausible idea where that one came from. Apparently, quick thinking was one of his stronger attributes tonight while everyone else's minds were becoming numb from alcohol.

Charming paused mid-sip and gawked as though Gold just sputtered foam. _Raving mad, _he could read quite clearly on those brazen features. Charming opened his mouth and closed it again. Clearly, he was having issues processing this.

"Let me get this straight. _You_ want to know…how to _slay_ a _dragon?"_ Gold kept his passiveness reigning free, to prove how serious he was about the matter. Charming's eyebrows shot up in wonder. "Can't you just….point a finger and turn it into a unicorn?"

What in blazes would he ever do with a unicorn? Keep it as a pet? Though, their blood and horns were useful for special spells and potions.

"Yes, I could," he agreed, if only to remind Charming that he was indeed powerful. "But…I've never had the chance to slay a dragon the proper way. Valiantly, with sword in hand. Like you." After this, he would be paying a trip to the kitchen to wash his mouth out with soap.

Forget the pony; he could turn that bloody dragon into a puppy and hand it to Archie for his birthday. How would the cricket fare with a dog that breathed fire every time it barked?

"Like…me?" There was that echo again. _Echo, echo, echo…_"Well, you just…take the sword in your hand…" Gold noticed Red's pathetic stub of a pencil on the bar and hastily snatched it up. He held it out to Charming.

"Here. Why not demonstrate?" Charming blinked down at the piece of pencil.

Hesitantly, he accepted it between his fingers. Slipping off the stool, he placed his feet firmly on the ground with his back facing Gold. Muscles tensed, back straight as a pole, legs buckled, the prince actually looked ready for a life or death battle. It made the dealmaker snicker to observe him wield the pencil like a sword. Fool.

"Right. First, we have to set the scene. So, there's a dragon. A really big, scaly fire-breathing dragon. And black smoke is rising from the village because it's on fire. And men are screaming, knights are dying…and people are panicking and shouting: _Help! Help! We are dying! Can you save us?" _

Out of all the people he had dealt with over the years—and there were quite a few—Charming doubtlessly had to be the most dramatic. And the most amusing. He even beat out that one-handed wastrel, Killian Jones.

While the prince was putting on a one-man show of cowering like a peasant—which admittedly stung just a bit due to being so close to home—he brought the laxatives out from his pocket. With Charming's back turned, he dumped the contents into the mug. _Bottoms up, Charming!_

"Oh, yes. Can't leave the good people crying out desperately, can we?" He played along while stirring a spoon in the drink. Mix it up nice and sweet. He almost licked the spoon to taste it himself, which would not bode well for his encounters with Emma.

"Exactly," Charming nodded over his shoulder. "You jump into the flames and action with your mighty sword drawn. And there's the dragon, stomping down on someone's hut. Fearsome, with yellow eyes as big as your head. And when it closes in on you, towering over you worse than any ogre, you can feel its breath all hot and muggy on your skin. It shoots a pillar of flames your way, and you dodge like this."

Charming dropped on his knees and rolled. He nearly tripped a few people in the process. Now heads were turning to watch the fake fight.

"Maybe jump on its spiky back and ride it along—" This had gone on long enough. He feigned a yawn of boredom.

"And then you chop its filthy head off, save the day, and have crying young maidens swooning at your feet, correct?"

Charming got to his feet as if just realizing he was rolling around on the diner's floor. He glanced back at Gold warily, obviously taken aback by his abrupt conclusion. He returned to his seat and set the pencil down on the bar. Play time was over.

"You have the idea. It's no cakewalk," he advised. It was then that Charming lifted the mug to his lips and drained half of it, worn from his intense demonstration. Gold settled back on his stool and waited. And waited. And waited.

Did the prince have bowels of steel?

Charming was oblivious to the change in his drink. He just went on tapping his foot as Red belted out a Taylor Swift song. There was the big vocal finish and the crowd cheered. Charming enthusiastically clapped, flashing his flawless pearly teeth.

Not even a tic out of place.

He downed the rest of the cup and moaned, rubbing his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and his head fell forward to hang limply.

"Must be indigestion," Charming murmured mostly to himself. Gold had to fight to keep the anticipation off his face. It was an amazing feat that Charming hadn't yet stumbled off the stool. After all, there had been enough laxatives in that stash for at least three people.

The seconds passed and the moaning increased in duration and frequency. The guy sounded like he was on his deathbed. Suddenly, Charming was bent over with his head under the bar and crossing his legs tightly. A cold sweat had broken over his skin as he shakily met Gold's eyes.

"Will you…oh, will you…excuse me. Clear the bathroom!"

Like a rocket, Charming was off the stool and running for the bathroom, shoving past people in the crowd. It was more like hobbling, if he was telling the truth. He dashed into the restroom and slammed the door behind him. _Good luck kissing Snow in there. Mirrors don't count. _

"What's his hurry?"

Flushed and breathless, Red joined his side and downed a glass of wine from the selection of drinks on a nearby tray. Her eyes flickered to the bathroom and then to Gold, who was playing the innocent card. He raised his head, as if just realizing Charming was no longer in the seat beside him.

"Oh, Charming? Why, I have no idea, dearie. One moment he's waving a pencil around in the air like a sword and pretending to slay a dragon. The next, he's complaining of indigestion and running for the bathroom." He deliberately frowned at the empty mug that Charming drank off. He made a show of waving it under his nose, sniffing it for the scent of alcohol. "Perhaps he's drunk."

The pitter-patter of footsteps made both of them turn around. Snow White approached their side of the diner, her fingers pinching her pink tongue and rubbing it in circles.

"Have you seen Charming? I can't find him," she questioned, pulling her fingers away long enough to speak coherently. Red tilted her head thoughtfully.

"I thought you two always find each other," she teased. Gold sniffed, but made no addition to that sentiment. _Must be the Tabasco throwing her off. _"He's in the bathroom."

"Something tells me he might be in there for a while," Gold offered, but Snow dashed off anyway to knock on the bathroom door. He ignored Red's probing gaze. He knew she was searching for some sign of his involvement in Charming's loose bowels. "I'll have a drink, while you're here. For Emma."

Maybe the guarded gleam came from thinking the mention of Emma was insurance so that Red wouldn't dare defile the drink as he had done with the lovebirds. Still, she gave him the benefit of the doubt and prepared a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Red took her time in choosing the cinnamon, just to be on the safe side.

"What are you going to put in her drink, I wonder?" Red gave him the evil eye as she handed the drink over.

"Would love potions disqualify me?" Immediately, the list of rules appeared from inside Red's shirt and the pencil flew wildly across the paper. That proved just how naïve Red was about magic—it was possible to conjure a lust spell, but not one of pure love.

"No…love…potions," she read aloud as she wrote. He shrugged and sought Emma out from the jostling crowd. She was currently sitting in a booth with Henry while Regina sent her unrelenting glares of hatred from across the room. If she didn't appreciate the beauty of a rose, there was a chance she would take kindly to a drink.

"The rules never discouraged extra cream."

…

_**At this time, I would also like to wish Huntress4455 a happy birthday. This chapter is dedicated to you and I hope your birthday was good to you, dearie!**_

_**And thank you, everyone, for the wonderful reviews! Perhaps I will come up with a few more Golden Swan holiday fics to keep you all satisfied. I love playing around with these two so much! **_

_**For now, I would like to thank discotimelord, 666Neme666, Huntress4455, pinkcrazyness, spankingfemfatale, helikesitheymikey, nuckythompson, DragonRose4, Musicalfan2012, thedoctorsgirl42, .714, DaesGatling, and SwanQueen4055. **_

_**Happy New Year's to everyone! **_


	3. 9:00

_**A/N: Okay, I have been writing this chapter for about a day and a half straight. My brain hurts. But you'll all be glad to know that it is…an interesting one, to say the least. It's a long one, too. So, sit back and enjoy!**_

_**No pants were seriously harmed in the making of this chapter. **_

"Care for a drink, dearie?"

Emma's serene concentration on Henry broke as Gold dared to set a mug of hot chocolate on the tabletop directly in front of her. It was overflowing with frothy white cream, a drop of it dribbling down the side of the cup and begging to be licked.

The kid had been explaining how the mechanic was really the mouse from Cinderella, Gus-Gus. Personally, she had always remembered Gus as the chubby mouse with the cute little cap that kept getting in trouble with the evil cat, Lucifer. Next Henry would be informing her that the doves were cursed too and were capable of conversing with Snow White.

And now there was an offering of hot cocoa from a magical man that seemed desperate to win her affection tonight.

She stared down through a hole in the cream to the foamy chocolate and wondered if she'd need to stick her head under the kitchen faucet. Or was it spiked with something else?

"No, thank you," she firmly declined, pushing the mug away with the tip of her finger. Henry shrugged and dipped his finger into the whipped cream and licked it off. She counted the seconds. Maybe it wasn't loaded with hot sauce, after all. "Still trying to impress me?"

Gold smoothed a hand down the length of his impeccable suit, guiding her attention with it.

"You looked rather impressed in the kitchen," he reminded her.

Heat scorched her neck and cheeks. Damn it, now her eyes were betraying her as they roved over all the places her fingers had touched his body. They lingered longest above his belt. And he let her look.

Henry, however, had forgotten the cocoa temporarily. There was that bright gleam in his eyes that always appeared whenever he was curious about something.

"What does he mean? You two were _alone_ in the _kitchen?"_ His eyebrows shot up toward his hair, which was quickly replaced with a grossed-out look when imagining his mom being romantically involved with someone, let alone the town's most powerful resident. _At least we'll never be poor. Think positive, Emma. _

Gold calmly drummed his fingers over his cane and seemed quite proud of himself.

"Ah, yes. Your mother is very fond of my—"

"Chocolate chip cookie recipe," Emma hurried to intercept Gold. It was the first thing that hopped into her mind. Whatever he'd been about to say, that obviously wasn't it. His mouth was left awkwardly hanging open while Henry studied her dubiously. "Mary Margaret and I wanted to bake cookies and Mr. Gold impressed me with his tip of….adding in twice the chocolate chips."

One thing Emma had learned about Gold: he was a man who knew how to play his cards.

"I'll be sure to make the next batch extra sweet for you, Emma. Perhaps I can offer you a demonstration." His body shifted smoothly, his mannerisms reeking of _if-you-know-what-I-mean._

"I think I can use my imagination," she muttered, trying to avert her gaze from Gold. It didn't work out well-he demanded to be the center of attention without even raising his voice. A chill skittered across her skin as he visibly perked up and made an excited 'ooh', his lips rounding.

"Penny for your thoughts, Sheriff." No way. The last thing she wanted to do was spill her inner thoughts in front of Henry.

What she was thinking involved the way in which Gold proved unpredictable time and again. She was thinking how there was a good chance he was trying to seduce her and the kiss at midnight would be the match to the gasoline. She was thinking that he was the best-dressed person in this diner and that her wall may have thinned in the hour or so that she'd been here.

Not that she would tell him any of that.

"Is there anything you want?" _Besides my lips, _she added in her head.

Gold made a show of considering it, but Emma doubted his desires hadn't already been added to his little To-Do list. Gold had Plan A through Plan R, for crying out loud.

"I'll let you know," he silkily assured her. It sounded like a dark promise. _Note to self: do not get caught in the kitchen with Gold. _

He turned around to leave and nearly crashed into someone. It was Paige's—no, _Grace's—_false father. According to Henry, he was one of the Three Little Pigs who avoided Red like the plague. Apparently, he and his brothers also ran the butcher shop. As diabolical as Regina was, there was just something not right about that picture.

The guy recognized the person he almost took down and paled.

"Forgive me, please! I wasn't looking where I was going!" Gold dusted off his suit and sniveled down at the heavyset man. _Great, _Emma thought in exasperation. _Now he'll probably hole up in his house and wait for Gold to come blow it down. _

"Clearly," Gold retorted icily. Grace gave a shy smile to Gold as she poked her head out from behind her father. However, her eyes specifically sought out Henry. She waved, a light pink color rising to her cheeks.

"Hello, Henry," she called out to him sweetly. He returned the smile easily. "Do you want to play a game of hide-and-seek later? I've gotten some of the other kids to join."

"Sure," Henry agreed enthusiastically. His eyes switched over to Emma, who was watching him carefully. "I mean…if it's okay with my mom."

Beneath the table, his foot nudged her leg. She rolled her eyes. Kids would be kids.

"Why not? There's no harm in popping up in places where adults least expect it, I guess." _So long as that place does not include the kitchen. _Both Grace and Henry beamed at the idea of their planned game. Grace was always the best seeker.

"Hey, Grace," Henry called out as she and her false father began to hurry away. She turned back and noticed the cup of cocoa. Henry was holding it out in offering. "Here. You can have this. It even has little marshmallows."

Henry scooted to the end of his seat and stretched the cup toward her. Gold observed their cute moment with growing unease.

As Grace hurried over to accept the drink, his cane happened to lie in her path and she tripped, flying forward into Henry. The mug of cocoa seemed to explode in a burst of chocolate. It splattered over Grace's dress. It was a miracle that only a splash or two had fallen on Henry's coat and even more of a miracle that Grace hadn't been terribly burned by the hot drink.

Immediately, Red rushed over with a towel while her father knelt to check Grace over. He brushed a hand over the stains, but it was no use. Her dress was at a loss.

"Grace? Are you alright?" The little girl spread her arms apart from her sides and her face twisted unhappily at the sight of her ruined dress. Bravely, she forced a smile and nodded.

"I'm fine, really," she insisted. Her father continued trying to rub the chocolate out with the towel to no avail. He frowned. "It was just an accident."

She didn't dare meet Gold's eyes. Henry apologized to her, but Grace shook it off. An accident, she repeated with her lip trembling. Emma's suspicious gaze switched to Gold, who was inspecting the end of his cane. He met her eyes and shrugged.

"I must be unbalanced today. Perhaps I've had one drink too many," he said passively. He turned and departed into the crowd, ignoring Grace's father's murmurs of having to go home to change clothes.

Emma watched Gold's retreating back until it disappeared. _That was no accident. With Gold, there's never any such thing as an accident. _

…..

"She seems nice," Emma hinted to Henry a few minutes after Grace had left to change her dress. Henry was clearly disheartened by that catastrophe. All he did was sullenly lift one shoulder in response.

"She's in my class," he explained, as if that summed it up. Child-logic. "I hope she's not mad about the cocoa."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, fretting. Emma leaned over the table and patted his hand.

"I'm sure she'll get over it. I think she likes you."

From her teasing tone, Henry realized she wasn't just talking about the standard _like _that qualified for friends. She meant _like _as in _boyfriend/girlfriend. _Hopefully not in the same way Regina _liked _Graham. Maybe it was more of the way Snow _liked _Charming.

Henry gave her a look of sheer incredulity.

"She's supposed to be like…" Henry paused as he thought about it, even using his fingers to keep count. Then he made a face that screamed _eww. _"Thirty-eight. That's old."

The repercussions of this twenty-eight year-long curse never failed to shock her. It wasn't every day you ended up being the same age as your parents. Emma sunk her head into her hand. It was amazing that Henry even stopped to consider these details.

"Besides," he continued. "All she did was ask me to play hide-and-seek. She didn't ask me to be her future husband." Emma held up a hand to stop him.

"First of all, 38 may seem old to you, but it isn't for me. At least, not really. Second of all, asking a boy to play hide-and-seek is pretty much the equivalent of asking him to be your Valentine. Trust me, I've been there."

Henry's lips parted in surprise.

"You mean, you've been there in asking a boy to play hide-and-seek? Or you asked him to be your Valentine?"

Emma reluctantly thought back to her childhood. Those kinds of activities stopped when she was about nine and she began to realize how the world worked.

"Both," she admitted. "I just hope you're past the MASH stage where you think you can predict the size of your house, spouse, and number of children on a piece of paper. When I did it, I was supposedly going to marry George Clooney, be a millionaire, live in a mansion, and have ten kids. I gave up hope of that at thirteen."

Henry nodded thoughtfully. With her luck, he'd introduce it to Grace.

"Does that mean you'll say no if I want to send an e-mail to Angelina Jolie and ask her to play hide-and-seek with me? _She_ can bring her ten kids."

Emma sighed and shook her head wistfully. _It is way too early in my motherhood lessons to be dealing with relationship drama. _

…..

From the time Grace returned in a clean lavender dress, the girl practically stuck to Henry's side like glue. It was obvious that she had a bit of a crush on the boy…and Henry didn't seem too hesitant to return her smiles and laughs.

Was this what it all came down to? Losing this challenge to _children?_ How embarrassing would that be? Red would likely laugh him out of the diner before crying into a towel herself.

But then again, they were just children. And children weren't usually interested in kissing, were they?

Even Bae had not shared any interest in women, though he had been fond of that mute maid. And there had always been that girl…what was her name? Ah, yes. Morraine. The little girl who raved on and on about the way he'd stopped the Ogre War. Squealing like a fan-girl, practically.

Come to think of it, Grace and Henry were looking at each other the same way Bae and Morraine had often looked at each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the musical chime of wedding bells.

He was fond of children…but he would rather destroy his only good leg before swallowing his pride and losing this challenge to two childhood sweethearts.

But how to go about distracting them from each other's company? What did children like? Candy. Children liked candy, especially the confectioner's chocolate found around the holidays.

And children got stomachaches from candy. If Grace got a stomachache, then her father would have to bring her home. Again.

It was perfect. Or at least perfect enough for the occasion.

Of course, he needed to find some candy first. Mr. Clark's store was only a couple stores down from the diner. Surely, the allergenic dwarf wouldn't miss a few shelves of Apollo bars.

As he approached the diner's door, Red glanced up from serving refills and that awful smirk flashed like a neon sign.

"Leaving so soon?" Did she honestly believe he would give up so early? He knew she would be planning something to strike against him soon. He swiveled toward her and sent her a patronizing look.

"You might want to drag your tail from between your legs. I'll be back before you begin to miss me," he promised. Red didn't look happy to hear it. She tilted her head inquiringly.

"Where exactly are you going?" _To freshen my breath for Emma, _he thought about saying. Perhaps he should pick up some Tic-Tacs, just in case. And some new cologne.

"To find an unoccupied bathroom." Red froze in her spot, a mug hooked on her finger. Turning around, she spotted Snow sitting sullen and alone at the bar while the bathroom door remained closed. _I told her Charming would be a while. _

The diner's bell rang as he stepped through it. For a brief moment, he glanced over his shoulder and his eyes connected with Emma's green ones. He couldn't tell if she was relieved or disappointed as she watched him walk out. _Don't worry, Emma-dear. I am far from done impressing you tonight. _

And just as the door closed behind him, a high-pitched scream erupted through the diner. It belonged to Regina. _The eensie-weensie spider crawled down Regina's shirt…_

Hopefully, Red caught it on tape.

….

It was quite easy to get into Mr. Clark's store in the dead of the night. The idiot dwarf left a spare key under a fist-sized rock right next to the door. No wonder Hansel and Gretel never got caught stealing before Emma came to town.

By the time he returned to the diner, he had a plastic bag full of Apollo bars swinging on the crook of his arm. The party was in full-swing—an area of the diner had been solely devoted to dancing. Red was leaning by the bar and showing a video to Snow and Cinderella.

"No, wait! Keep watching! See, that's when Dopey dropped the spider down and…there she goes dancing! Look how much she wiggles! People thought she was mimicking MC Hammer when 'Can't Touch This' came on!"

The girls were red-faced, bursting into laughter. Hysterical tears streamed down Snow's cheeks as Red replayed it again. Abruptly, he laid the plastic bag down on a stool, catching their attention.

The smiles slipped away, replaced with obvious discontent. Cinderella mumbled something about her feet aching and wanting Prince Thomas to rub them even though he was holding their baby. Snow averted her gaze and slowly slid away from the bar, making a beeline for Emma.

"Funny how that always happens," he muttered. Red didn't bother to argue that point—no one could possibly clear a room faster than Rumpelstiltskin. She peered down into the bag and then gave him an incredulous look.

"You went out…to get candy bars?" Red blinked at the assortment of chocolates, as if expecting it to be a mirage. Either that or she was thinking he had a spectacular sweet tooth. And foolishly hoping he would share. He scooted the plastic bag closer to his side. "I thought you were going to the bathroom!"

"Perhaps I was," he retorted. "The difference between you and me is that I don't have to wait for a public bathroom. I can relieve myself wherever I like. In your language, I'm marking my territory."

Red scrunched her nose distastefully.

"Happens to me once a month, too," she blurted out. Then her face turned red. "And I said that aloud. That's the last thing I expected to have in common with you."

All he knew was that she'd better stay away from his house during a full moon. It was bad enough he had to listen to Pongo terrorizing Miss Ginger's yard next door.

"What is that?" Red was leaning over again and she had spotted something else in the bag. Oh, yes. His other investment.

Carefully, he pulled the object out so Red could examine it. It was a child's toy, but it fascinated him for some odd reason. It was a plastic robot claw and when you pulled the lever at the bottom, the claw snapped open. He'd been grabbing the chocolate bars off the shelf with it ever since.

But Red looked at him like he was off his rocker.

"You are more delusional than I thought," she said, snickering.

He snapped the claw open and closed. He tried to pick up a tortilla chip with it, but the chip broke into pieces. Okay, so maybe it needed a little improving.

"Are you always excited by such mundane things?"

He thought back to his time in their world and how gleeful he had been. Granted, most of it had been the madness setting in, but there were delicacies in that world that truly put a smile on his face and a spring in his step. Strawberry tarts, exploding fairies, bungee-jumping off the side of his castle when he was bored…He had been the one to create that sport. Blame it on the madness.

"You'd be surprised what sort of activities excite me, dearie." The look on Red's face suggested she didn't want to know. Good—because that list was rather long.

Just then, Sneezy and Dopey strolled by. Sneezy slowed as he eyed the plastic bag of candy bars and the robot claw in Gold's hand.

"Hey! Is that from my store?" Gold quit snapping the claw.

If he tried to come up with a lie or clever evasion, he sensed Red would throw him under the bus. So, he put on a fierce expression that made Sneezy gulp and take a step back, stumbling into Dopey.

"I'll make up the expenses," he cast off the insinuation.

"But—" He glared down at the sniffling dwarf to silence him. Was he honestly challenging his word? His face brightened as a delicious idea hit him.

"Hey, dwarf. How do you like…escargot?"

Now the two dwarfs were nearly trembling in their caps. Gold deliberately snapped the claw open in Sneezy's face. He did the same in Dopey's face, waving the toy like a wand. The dwarfs exchanged frightened looks and dashed off.

"You need to stop threatening every single person who questions you," Red said, not amused. He pointed the toy at her, but she angled it away from her face.

"I don't threaten you, do I?" The corners of Red's lips lifted a little. Truthfully, she was one of the few who did not seem terribly intimidated by him. If he didn't know any better, he would claim she was fond of his company.

It must be the champagne.

"You're getting better at holding your tongue," she admitted. She tapped a nail against the robot claw. "So, what exactly are you going to do with all those candy bars? Are you planning on making everyone jealous by eating them one by one?"

"As entertaining as that would be…no," he said. He ruffled the bag and scanned the crowd for Henry and Grace. A-ha! There they were, at the edge of the dancing crowd. Red followed his gaze and her expression grew wary as she noticed the children. "Children love candy."

Red widened her eyes in disbelief as he slid off the stool.

"You're paranoid that two innocent children are going to steal your kiss so you're bribing them with chocolate?" It sounded like she understood his dilemma well. He thrust the robot claw into her hands.

"Watch my toy."

…

"Henry." He looked up from Grace to see Mr. Gold—no, Rumpelstiltskin—approaching their table. He frowned thoughtfully. Here he had been getting along with Grace and really started liking her.

What would someone like Rumpelstiltskin want with them? Something to do with Emma? If his mom ever did with Rumpelstiltskin what Snow and Charming said they did alone in the apartment—making tacos—then he would never look at the dealmaker in the same way again. Emma didn't even like tacos.

Then he saw the plastic bag on his arm and he tried to keep his eyes from lighting up and betraying how curious he was. Grace shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Gold stopped at the edge of their table.

"Hi, Mr…uh, Rumpelstiltskin," Henry greeted politely. The infamous name only made Grace's eyes grow wider, but Henry had never been afraid of Mr. Gold. He had never done anything to harm him; he even seemed a little fond of him. Henry just didn't know whether to trust him. "What do you have in the bag?"

Mr. Gold must have been amused by the probing question because he grinned.

"You're more like your mother than you know, Henry. Always curious," he said. Henry took that as a compliment. "I had some extra Apollo bars in my shop. I'm afraid there's too many for an old man like me to eat on my own. Perhaps you two could make good use of them."

Upending the bag, he dumped the contents over the table. Out poured a mountain of chocolate bars, some falling onto their seats. Never had they seen so much candy.

And yet…neither of them reached forward to take one. The seconds ticked by, but all they did was stare at the pile. Why weren't they gobbling it up? Were they so mesmerized by all the candy that a nerve short-circuited inside their brains?

"Well, go on. Take some. They're all yours," he insisted, nudging the pile into the center of the table. Henry kept his hands safely in his lap. What was wrong with these children? "Surely, you two like chocolate?"

Henry's lips twitched. He looked tempted, but he turned his imploring eyes on Gold.

"What's your price?" Like mother like son, like grandmother like grandson.

Never had he made a threatening move in the child's direction. Never had he asked him for anything, but then it was rare if he made deals with children. He feigned hurt, pressing a hand to his chest.

"You honestly think I would ask for something in return?" Henry gave him a serious stare that made him appear far wiser than his ten years. He would take that as a yes. "All I want is for you to enjoy that candy. My stomach can only handle so much these days."

_I'll bet if Granny dumped a whole bag of candy on their table, it'd be gone in a matter of minutes. What's the difference between me and her? She's not a sweet old lady by any means. _

As if reading his mind, Grace shook her head kindly.

"No, thanks. Both my fathers warned me not to take candy from strangers," she said quietly. He scowled. _I'm sure Jefferson meant Regina's candy apples. Drizzling caramel over it does not make it any less poisonous. _

"Oh, I'm no stranger. I've been friends with your biological father for a long time. Practically his whole life. For all you know, I'm your godfather."

Grace cringed at that idea. He hoped she wasn't thinking of _the _Godfather. It must be the cane.

"That's not what he says," she replied. Now he was the curious one. The rumor mill never ceased to amaze him. _This ought to be good, _he thought with mild interest.

"And what does he say?" Hesitation radiated off Grace's young face and she bit down on her lip. The expectancy and pressure convinced her, for her lips were forming words. He cocked his head to listen to her soft voice.

"He said…you were a strange little man with a skin problem. That you lived alone in a dark castle, dress in leather pants…oh, and you once begged him to get you some ruby slippers."

Jefferson could be such a blabbermouth. After all he'd done for him and all the times he'd made him comfortable in his Dark Castle. And, whoa, skin problems?

"Could you ever picture me wearing…" He lowered his voice for fear of eavesdroppers. No need to have this spread through town. "…ruby slippers?"

Both children leaned over to glance down at his expensive, shined shoes. The laughter bubbled behind their lips. Oh, they thought that was funny, did they?

"Henry, it's about time that dreadful woman…I mean, Miss Swan left you alone," Regina's clipped voice disrupted them. She came over carrying a plate of her special lasagna. The dish was almost empty on the bar—these people wouldn't touch her apples, but they were suckers for her lasagna.

The Mayor stopped dead when she registered his presence and the pile of candy. He smiled calmly, but she gave him a threatening look before bending down to Henry's level. Great—now he was stuck staring at her rear end. What did he ever do to deserve this?

"Henry, what did I tell you about taking food from questionable people?" A rebellious gleam sparked in Henry's eyes. If she wasn't careful, the boy would take one of those bars just to spite her.

"Questionable as in you and your candy apples?" Gold couldn't resist pushing Regina's buttons. It was always a favorite hobby of his. Slowly, she straightened up and turned to face him, her body shielding Henry.

"Are you insinuating something…_Gold?"_

"I'm not sure. Are you insinuating something by calling me and my candy bars questionable, _Your Majesty?" _Regina narrowed her eyes in warning. She never liked being mocked.

He ducked his head around her shoulder and snatched up one of the chocolate bars. Peeling back the wrapper, he bit off a chunk of the chocolate. _Monkey see, monkey do. _

"You two enjoy the chocolate," he said to Henry and Grace. He reveled in Regina's outrage as the children exchanged awed glances and dove for the pile of candy. He was chuckling as he returned to the bar. Apparently, so was Red.

"Here's your claw back," she said as she handed it over. Good—it wasn't broken. And why was she looking at him so smugly? Did she superglue his seat? "So…ruby slippers, huh? Mind if I borrow them sometime?"

Damn that sensitive wolf hearing.

"Hush or I'll make you dance in iron shoes."

So much for holding his tongue. Suddenly, Archie swept over and applied a gentle kiss to Red's cheek. Those two looked as cheery as Snow and Charming. If Charming wasn't manning the bathroom, anyway.

"Oh, hello, Rumpelstiltskin," Archie greeted kindly, tipping his head. He noticed the robot claw and his eyes grew wide behind his glasses. "Hey, I remember those! I used to love those as a kid!"

Before Gold knew it, Archie had taken the robot claw from his hand and used the claw to pick up a flower from a vase and hand it to Red. She blushed as she took it while Gold fought to get his robot claw back.

Kids would be kids.

…

_Ring…ring…ring…Oh, pick up the phone, you good-for-nothing hatter! _

Gold mentally grumbled and cursed Jefferson's name as he stood outside the diner and held the phone to his ear. He rubbed his hands together for warmth as the dial tone continued buzzing.

"Welcome to My Estate Is Larger Than Yours, Maine. How may I help you?" Jefferson's arrogant voice filled his ear. Figures he would answer his call in such a rude manner. Hold on…

"Are you an oracle now?" A rough chuckle came over the line.

"See, this world is greatly advanced over ours. They have this thing called Caller ID. It lets me know exactly who's calling. Crazy, huh?" Irritated, he shrugged off Jefferson's spiel about the modern wonders of this world and zoomed into the reason for his call.

"You told your daughter I requested the ruby slippers?"

It was silent on the other end. Surely, Jefferson hadn't forgotten? No, his memory was almost as impressive as his own. Either he was dying with laughter or shaking with guilt. Or torn between the two.

"You were talking to my daughter?" Oh, no. The hatter didn't get to throw around the accusations. Not when he'd spread so many rumors. "What else were you going to do with them? There was only one way to work them and that was to slip them on and click the heels together. It's haunted my dreams for years."

"And I'm a strange little man, am I?" Now there was a hint of laughter again. If he could reach through this phone and wring his neck…

"I never said that," he openly denied. Gold opened his mouth to call him a liar since he all but named his daughter one, but the hatter beat him with words. "Grace misunderstood me. I didn't say you were a strange little man. I said you were a _sad, _strange little man." Gold's fingers curled around his phone. "Face it—you spent nearly 300 years alone, you giggle like a sheep on helium, and you're not exactly _Jack and the Beanstalk _material when it comes to height."

"And what is wrong with my leather pants?" He'd been the first to establish that trend, too. He had a handful of ladies swooning over him in the taverns.

"Nothing. You have great taste. Everyone wears leather in the Enchanted Forest for the most part, but no one usually wears it casually here. Except for old rock stars."

"And my skin problems?" Jefferson audibly scoffed into his ear.

"Have you even peered into a mirror during those 300 years?" Okay, maybe his skin was _different, _but did it have to be qualified as a problem? "There's a cure for that in this world. It's a magic substance called Neutrogena."

This was getting ridiculous. All these insults were driving him raving mad.

"Any more questions?" Jefferson clamored away. He sounded much too satisfied with this Q&A seminar.

"One. Why aren't you joining the festivities?" Every resident of Storybrooke seemed to be inside that diner except Jefferson. He assumed the hatter would be keen on spending time with Grace. Unless he was still afraid of that reunion.

"Because the only thing people concern themselves with at a New Year's party…is which lucky couple with earn the first kiss at midnight."

Jefferson's words struck a nerve in his brain. He knew. Tentatively, Gold glanced up at the house on the hill and imagined Jefferson spying through his telescope.

"Amazing how powerful my telescope can be. It impresses me sometimes. You can't see it right now, but I'm waving from my window. Aren't you going to wave back, old friend?" The last thing he intended to do was be caught waving at no one in particular.

Instead, he snapped his phone shut. A second later, it buzzed. There was a message on his phone. The backlight illuminated the words in the darkness.

_How rude, _it said with a tiny angry face sporting devil horns. How amusing. Then the phone buzzed a second time. _By the way, they call this texting. _And he was informative.

"Let me guess: your spinning wheel is summoning you home?"

The voice came from directly behind him, nearly startling him. So, that's how it felt to have someone sneak up on you. Thankfully, it was only Emma. And she was eating one of his chocolate bars.

"Henry had a suspicious amount of candy sitting on his table. Oh, and you paid him off to hand it all to Grace?"

She took out a wad of twenties that he had slipped to Henry. Stepping forward, she stuffed the wad in his suit pocket. There was a tiny spot of chocolate on the corner of her lips that directed his attention. What would she do if he bent his head and licked it away?

"Should I dance now? I promise I'll keep my hat on." Heat rose to Emma's face and she whirled away in astonishment. When she turned back around, the coloring had seeped into her neck. "He looked hungry. I thought I'd share."

Emma munched slowly on the candy, her mouth currently too full to answer. Maybe she was using the candy to distract her mind from the pleasant thoughts circling her mind.

"I thought you never shared anything that belonged to you," she retorted, though not too coldly. It was merely a way of stating a fact.

"The only thing I will never share is my ice cream," he declared. That, and his leather pants. And his closet. And his hairbrush. And his shampoo. Ooh, maybe Emma had a point. He could be a tiny bit possessive.

"Never?"

He stared at her in mild shock. Was that a challenge? Daringly, he inched closer to her, but she didn't draw away. She did stop chewing, though. He pointed to the bar in her hand, half-eaten.

"That was not meant for you, Emma. I have half a mind to ask for a price."

She inclined her blonde head, her hair glowing luminously in the moonlight. She eyed him inquisitively. Probably trying to decide which price he would settle on. Finally, she bit the hook.

"What price is that?"

As quite an observant man, he was aware of numerous details at once. He was aware of how close their bodies had drifted together, even if she didn't realize it. He was aware of how her nose twitched like Samantha on _Bewitched _when his breath grazed her skin. Above all, he was aware of that tempting chocolate spot which was becoming the bane of his existence.

"Trust me, Emma. If I staked my price, I doubt you could afford it. For you, I'll take it in increments. How about a walk in the moonlight?" Uncertainly, she glanced back at the diner and the party inside. "They'll survive five minutes without you. Your boy has enough candy to keep him satisfied and your mother is drowning her sorrows in her third cup of spiked punch."

Emma switched her focus back to Gold and scrutinized him carefully. Was she planning on frisking him again? Lightly, she nodded in agreement.

"Five minutes." She wiped her mouth on her leather sleeve, ridding it of that chocolate spot. His phone vibrated in his hand. _Emma and Rumpel sitting in tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. _

One of these days, he was going to pay a visit to that house on the hill and stuff Jefferson into his magical hat. And then burn it.

….

"What's your favorite fairy-tale?" It was a question that came out of the blue as they walked along the dimly-lit street. He offered Emma a sideways look. "Besides your own," she clarified.

In truth, he didn't much care for his own fairy-tale. Grimm had gotten so many details wrong. He'd seen people split in half before and it wasn't pretty. He'd certainly never been _that _angry. And dancing around a fire singing about his name? Usually those things only happened when he was seriously drunk.

"I'd have to say…Snow White," he revealed. Emma stuffed her hands into her pockets, the wrapper crinkling inside.

"You're just saying that," she accused. He gave her an appalled look.

"No, it's true. Everyone praises the beauty and power of true love's kiss. In the original tale, there was never any such kiss," he said. Emma reacted like this was news to her, so he continued. "As a matter of fact, her life was saved all thanks to a moment of clumsiness. The glass casket was dropped, you see, and the apple, the poisoned bit of apple that had wedged itself in her throat came back up. And Snow White was allowed to live once more. No magical kiss, no…_and they lived happily ever after._"

Emma was quiet beside him, peering down at her boots. He wondered if he had disturbed her by shattering the beloved Disney illusion to pieces. Needless to say, no one had ever dropped a rock on the Queen.

When she lifted her head, she actually looked…impressed.

"I never knew that," she said honestly. It was sad to think that she had been kept in the dark about her destiny her entire life. "What happened to your true love? Assuming you have one."

His pace slowed on the sidewalk. He wondered when this topic would come up, if ever. That old ache burned inside his heart. Did he dare tell her the truth? Dredge up those old memories and pain?

"Everyone has a true love. She died…a long time ago," he whispered. And now Emma would ask how, wouldn't she? That thirst for answers would not go unquenched. He anticipated it, but it never came.

"I'm sorry," she said instead. She sounded like she meant it. When he met her eyes, he could see they were wide with sympathy. It had been years since someone looked at him like that. It dazed him, just as the light had dazed him when Belle ripped the curtains down.

Suddenly, she shivered. For a moment, he wondered if her common sense was kicking in late about his character, but she was just cold. Taking out her hands, she cupped them to her mouth and blew into them.

"Would you like my gloves?" Emma gazed down pointedly at his bare hands. Her brow furrowed with skepticism.

"But, you don't have—" With a flourish of his wrist, a pair of black leather gloves appeared in his hands. Emma frowned at his use of magic, but accepted the gloves anyway. They fit her nicely. "Impressive."

"Thank you," he gladly reeled in the compliment, even if it wasn't meant to be one. He simply couldn't resist pushing it to the limit. With another wave, a bouquet of flowers materialized.

"Are you practicing to be a magician now? Next you'll be asking me to pick a card, any card," she quipped. Another message came through his phone from the world's biggest Peeping Tom. Jefferson was likely sitting at his window eating popcorn. _Stop showing off. Leave that to me. _Arrogant madman. "You already gave me a flower, remember?"

His thoughts were pulled away from his phone and he redirected his attention to Emma. Oh, yes. The abandoned rose. This woman could be so difficult to please. Or was she making it hard on purpose?

Taking the flowers back, he wracked his brain for a replacement. A pony? No, Emma didn't seem the dainty horse type. A dress? No, that might be a little creepy. Ooh, he had just the gift.

"Yes, I did. However, I did not give you…" The flowers vanished in exchange for a book. The Brothers' Grimm book of fairy-tales to be exact. "…this." Emma reached out and caressed the golden spirals across the cover. Slowly, she claimed it. "This way, you know I'm telling the truth about Snow White's tale. I should warn you, though. It's rather easy to lose yourself in fairy-tales."

Emma sighed and gestured to the street they were standing on.

"No kidding. Just look at me now. I'm taking a walk in the moonlight with Rumpelstiltskin."

Still, she fingered the cover of the book gently. Cracking it open, she flipped through the golden-trimmed pages. It would give her a chance to recount on some of the childhood experiences she'd lost. Maybe she could even give it to her son.

"You know what my favorite fairy-tale was?" Silently, he waited, not wanting to disrupt this insight she was offering him. "Rapunzel. When I was a little girl, I always wished my hair could grow that long."

Purposely, he took a step behind her to examine the waves of her blonde hair, falling to the middle of her back. He always did fancy a woman that had a wild mane of hair that he could thread his fingers through.

"I'd say you're a quarter of the way there," he said, returning to her side. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Like I'm supposed to believe you were really checking out my hair?" Ooh, she was filled with all sorts of feisty ideas tonight. He liked it. If only he could bring her home.

Clearing his throat, he pointed to the direction from which they came.

"We should head back. The cold does my leg no good," he murmured, rubbing a hand across his thigh. It would be stiff tomorrow. The pain he endured for Emma.

As they turned around, he allowed his eyes to drop along her backside. Truthfully, he had been studying her hair before. This time, he was simply admiring the view.

…..

The Snow White fairy-tale clung to his mind after he and his late night walking partner returned to the diner. He didn't know why it was bothering him so much…until he laid eyes on Archie. Not that he wanted to wake that man up from a sleeping curse.

"Excuse me," he murmured to Emma before making a beeline in the cricket's direction. He was sitting in a booth with Red, telling her some cheerful story about his time as a cricket.

"And it's the most beautiful sound in the world! All those crickets coming together and chirping….and the feeling I used to get when rubbing my legs together to make that noise. I mean, I couldn't do it now because I would look ridiculous. But I would have liked to play a song just for you."

Red gushed at Archie's sweetness, up until the point when Gold slapped his cane down on the table between them. It made her jump and she gave him a seething look. _Oh, stop, Red. I'll start crying a river. _

"Sorry to disturb your lovely moment…but I have a serious matter to discuss with our dear cricket doctor," he announced.

Red crossed her arms and refused to move. Archie began to frown and appeared a little worried, but Red held up her hand to Gold.

"Take a ticket, then. We're in the middle of a conversation. Really, it's the first moment I've had alone with Jim-Jim all night," she moaned, motioning to Archie with her eyes. Jim-Jim? The nickname stage, was it? Archie reached over and clasped her hands.

"And I wouldn't want to spend this moment with anyone else, Hoodsie Cup," he replied. Gold was inches from gagging. This was worse than the Charmings blocking traffic and proclaiming _I will find you!_

But these matters were too serious to ignore.

"In that case….I'll just wait," he said.

There was an extra chair near one of the booths and he dragged it over so he could perch at the end of their table. He bobbed his cane between his knees patiently, but they merely stared at him. Red's contorted face demanded for him to _go away. _

"Oh, don't mind me. Continue with whatever matters were more important than mine. Pretend I'm invisible."

That advice didn't seem to ease them any.

Red pouted her lips as she played with the salt and pepper shakers, clinking them together. Archie coughed into his hand and tried to put some effort into ignoring Gold's searing gaze.

"So…Red….what is it really like being a werewolf here in Storybrooke?" Red actually relaxed her muscles a bit and opened her mouth to answer with a smile.

"Oh, it's—"

"Careful, Hopper," Gold advised. "She likes to mark her territory during that time of the month. Your car, your house, your bed…nothing's sacred."

Archie's face turned a scarlet shade of red—it seemed he was embarrassed for Red's sake. And Red…Red was bristling with anger. Archie carefully settled a hand on her arm to calm her down.

"As I was saying," she growled through her teeth, darting a furious look at Gold. He was happy playing innocent. "The wolf thing isn't so bad now that I can control it. And I love to run for miles—"

"Perhaps you can buy her a chew-toy for your first anniversary. And a fluffy bed for the pups. Six at a time, no doubt," Gold interrupted again. Red slammed her fist on the table. She whipped around in her seat to glare at him.

"Do you mind?" He tapped his cane lightly on the floor and leaned casually back in his seat.

"Nope, I'm quite comfortable right here," he said.

Flustered, Red hastily slid out of the booth, much to Archie's dismay. Gold couldn't help but grin victoriously, even though he knew she'd get her revenge tonight. Hell hath no fury like a werewolf scorned.

"You two enjoy your date," she snapped. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she stomped away in a whirlwind.

Archie watched her leave with longing, his heart in his eyes. Gold wondered if he had a chance of being his best man at their wedding. Fixing his glasses, he shifted in Gold's direction. Nothing but business.

"Uh…what did you…want to talk about?"

Oh, no. He was using that tone. The tone that was unnecessarily open and encouraging, the one that triggered people to empty their souls onto the table with a fistful of Kleenex. The cricket assumed he was here for advice.

"I'm not here for therapy…Jim-Jim," he mocked. Archie lowered his eyes to the tabletop. "I need to ask you a favor. You're a therapist, skilled with hypnosis. I want you to hypnotize Henry and Grace. Put them to sleep, so to speak."

Archie studied him, obviously speculating about his intentions. The wheels certainly turned in his head, trying to piece the puzzle together. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, no sound coming out.

"Why?"

Did the cricket have to ask so many questions? Couldn't he just…do it? Oh, yes, he was the conscience of the town. Good people could be so annoyingly…good.

"I'm concerned about their sleeping habits. Just look at the circles under their eyes. They are clearly exhausted and deprived of a good night's sleep. Now, do them a favor, yes?"

He found Henry and Grace in the crowd—they were dancing on their seats with candy wrappers at their feet.

"They appear pretty hyper to me," Archie noted. "Does this have anything to do with the bet you're having with Red?" Gold's head whipped around. Red told Archie about their challenge? Or did she not fill him in on the details?

"How much do you know?" Archie weaved his hands together nervously.

"That you and Red have a bet going on. She said I would get the inside scoop at midnight. That's it." Gold sighed in relief. It was just like Red to work Archie in her favor. Well, no, manipulation was his staple, but if he was capable of it then so was she.

"I'll make you a deal. Nothing harmful. You put those two to sleep and I will buy you ten new sweater vests," he bargained. Archie wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He looked torn between shaking on it and rejecting the offer.

"Mr. Gold, I—"

"Twenty," he negotiated. Archie shook his curly head.

"I have enough sweater vests, Mr. Gold. I don't think it'd be right to—" Stubborn cricket. He had to have a price. He leaned forward in his chair, ready to bring out the big guns.

"Tough customer. If you do this for me, I shall…"

Suddenly, he remembered there were people in this diner with extraordinary hearing. Grabbing a napkin, he took a fountain pen from his suit and scribbled a note. He slid it over to Archie. The cricket nearly stopped breathing as he read it silently.

"But…but…Mr. Gold, you must be joking!" He had a feeling this man was close to jumping him and hugging him. He edged his seat away.

"I mean every word," he said carefully. He extended his hand. "Do we have a deal?" All Archie needed to do was glance over at Red in order to strike up enough will to shake Gold's hand.

"Deal," he agreed happily. Quickly, he stood up and started in the direction of Henry and Grace.

Once he was gone, Gold reached over and swept up the napkin. He ripped it to shreds, erasing the finely printed note. _If you and Red ever plan to marry, I shall take it upon myself to handle the wedding arrangements._

That was assuming Archie had the courage to pop the question at all. He knew the two had been steady recently, even if they liked to believe their relationship was on the down-low. Granny was definitely proud of him. But marriage? It was more likely that a meteor would fall out of the sky.

Heels clicked behind him and suddenly Red's streaked hair flowed over his shoulder.

"By the way, I hope you enjoyed your walk with Emma. Because there's superglue on that seat you're occupying."

Gripping the handles of the chair, he urged his body to lift from the seat, but it refused to move. The chair screeched across the floor as he fought with it, his pants glued. Red was hoping he would tear them. She doubled over in laughter.

_I wouldn't laugh too soon if I were you, Hoodsie Cup. _There was only one possible solution. He snapped his fingers. Red froze as she waited for him to be levitated from the seat or the chair to explode, releasing him.

"Looks like your magic failed you this time," she boasted.

Ignoring her, he popped open his buckle and wrenched down his zipper. Red stared open-mouthed, horrified as he began to wiggle and work his way out of the pants. He climbed over the arm of the chair and landed gracefully on his feet. He turned full-circle, admiring the suit pants that had apparently been directly underneath his other pair.

Who was laughing now?

"It's the Everlasting Pants spell. How do you think I always changed so quickly at parties in our world when someone decided to show up in the same leather pants as me?"

He glanced deliberately at Regina across the room. Red regained her composure and whipped out the list of rules. Under the last rule, in big letters, she wrote _No Magic!_

He should have known that would come up sooner or later in their game. _It was good while it lasted. _He still pouted, though.

…..

Hypnotism had always been an interest of Archie's. At first, he had secretly wanted to be a stage-magician. He even knew how to saw people in half. But being a therapist was much more logical, or so his false memories told him.

And he would like to marry Red. She was the one, he knew it.

"Henry, Grace," he greeted warmly as he approached their table-turned-dance floor. They smiled up at him expectantly. "Listen, how would you two like to be…hypnotized?" What kid _didn't _want to be hypnotized?

He took out his pocket watch and dangled it in front of them like a pendulum. This would only work if he had their permission. Grace's eyes lit up like twinkling stars in the night sky.

"Cool," she breathed in awe, reaching out to touch the pocket watch. Henry didn't look so sure.

"Is it safe?" Archie had never used hypnotism on Henry during their sessions; mostly, they just talked. Kneeling down to his level, Archie swung the watch back and forth. He patted Henry's shoulder reassuringly.

"Of course it is. I thought it would be a neat trick. I wanted to be a magician, you know," he said. He meant every word. He wouldn't attempt this if he didn't think Henry or Grace would be safe. Or if he didn't want Red to be happy in the future.

Henry considered it and then nodded.

"Okay. Let's try it," he exclaimed, his excitement rocketing up. Archie took slow breaths and instructed them to watch the watch. He made sure to speak in an even, soothing voice.

"Now, all I need you two to do is keep your minds open and take slow, deep breaths. Just relax." It was simple, really. All he did was encourage them to fall asleep. Their breathing deepened and their eyes crossed until their heads lolled on their chests.

A hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. He yelped and leaped to his feet, clutching at his chest. It was only Emma, holding a book closely to her body. She peered over his shoulder at the sleeping children.

"Guess their energy burned out, huh?" She frowned in disappointment. "And I was betting on Grace to win at hide-and-seek."

….

"So, my kid's crashed out in a booth," Emma announced as she plunked herself down in the chair next to him. She laid her fairy-tale book on the counter and drummed her fingers on it.

"Is that your way of telling me the children are asleep and that it's time for adult swim?"

Gold leered down at the Sheriff hungrily, arching an eyebrow. Emma scoffed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. A fiery passion burned in her green eyes, the kind that requested answers.

"What are you really up to, Gold?" He feigned an innocent look, but she didn't buy it. "You're giving me drinks, flowers, and charming me with fairy-tales. You enticed me into frisking you. You're telling me a kiss is all you want?"

His lips widened to reveal his teeth. He leaned forward until she was a mere breath away, but she didn't blink. Lifting a hand, his fingertips brushed against her cheek.

"A kiss is all I want, Emma. Unless you offer more," he murmured softly. Oh, he would love to know what was going on in that pretty head of hers. Was she imagining herself giving in to his charms? Did she picture herself kissing him, writhing in his arms?

For her sake, he returned to his previous distance.

"It's your choice," he informed her. Delicately, her lips parted and he glimpsed her tongue running across her teeth.

A loud stampede prevented whatever Emma had been about to say.

It was Granny in her glowing green neon glasses, marching through the crowd furiously. And in her fist was a pair of pants. He mentally groaned. _Oh, no. _All at once, he regretted leaving his pants behind. He assumed Red would dispose of them properly. Burn them in the parking lot.

"Which person owns _these?" _

Granny was using her _take-no-prisoners_ voice. The one she used when wielding her crossbow. The diner's mayhem hushed to a dull roar except for the music. There was no way he was raising his hand, not with Emma beside him.

As it turned out, he didn't have to. The patrons of this diner would have figured it out eventually—they were expensive suit pants, after all. But Red strode up behind his seat and pointed a finger right over his head.

"That would be him," she declared.

She might as well attach a neon arrow above his head for all the attention he earned. Even Emma was gazing at him with a mixture of disbelief and distaste. Granny thrust the pair of pants under his nose.

"I don't care how intoxicated you are or how rich you are. There is no stripping in my diner! Just for that, I'm charging twice as much for your pickles."

She left him with the rumpled pair of pants and undue attention. Red seemed proud of herself. And Emma was still gawking.

"I have a very complicated relationship with that woman."

….

_**I'm glad you guys are enjoying this little holiday series I've got going on. So, just out of curiosity, what do you think Gold's stage-name would be? (-;**_

_**Anyone want a piece of Gold's suit? Here's to 666Neme666, DaesGatling, sbcarri, Huntress4455, spankingfemfatale, nuckythompson, DragonRose4, helikesitheymikey (the green dress=third Sleeping Beauty fairy. I think her name is Fauna, isn't it?), thedoctorsgirl42, and SwanQueen4055. Thanks, everyone!**_


	4. 10:00

_**10:00 p.m.**_

Magic was different here in Storybrooke.

Gold recognized the truth of that unspoken rule almost immediately after bringing magic to this land that lacked it, especially since it was a channel of power that did not belong here. This was meant to be a land without it and yet magic had invaded it. It felt different, it worked different, it even tasted different. Magically conjured drinks and foods were about as appetizing as flat soda and sand these days.

But no one in this world understood it better than Red at 10:05 that night.

Seething worse than a rudely awakened dragon, Red briskly strode to his place at the corner of the bar…and dumped an armful of clothes directly in front of him. At first, he assumed she was criticizing his sense of fashion or mocking him about the superglue fiasco. Upon further inspection, he realized it was a pile entirely built of suit pants.

"No, thanks, dearie. I brought my own," he said before she could utter a syllable. He patted his black-suited leg for emphasis. And yet Red was still fuming and shoving the pile toward him. Was there a short-circuit in her hard drive? He didn't speak Cujo.

"I can see that," she coolly returned, gesturing to the pile. He frowned in puzzlement. There had to be thirty pairs of pants right there. _Okay, I may have accepted one mug of beer, but I'm usually good about holding my liquor. I know I haven't stripped that many times. _

"Donating new suits to my closet will not aid your rent," he taunted, pushing the pile back in her direction. Stubbornly, she used both her hands to nearly topple the pile into his lap.

"_You're _the one doing the donating, Gold," she retorted, much to his perplexity. "Thanks to your little Everlasting Pants spell, our backroom has become your twisted walk-in closet. The _pants_ are _multiplying_!"

That was news to him. His eyes switched to the door that led into the little laundry room that served as the diner's backroom.

How odd; usually, when he performed that spell, the pants stayed on his body. Except the last time he used that spell was in the Enchanted Forest. This was not a moment of ordinary circumstance and this was not their world. Which meant there was a chance Red and Granny would be stocked with enough suit pants to last every man in New York City.

Whoops.

"Perhaps you could sell them," he suggested, even though his lips were curving with glee. The unexpected outcome of that simple spell was enough to make him…what was that fancy text lingo? Ah, yes—ROTFL. He wondered if that was meant to be literal.

"That'll go over splendidly for our customers," Red sarcastically spouted. Then, she planted a hand on her hip and imitated waitressing. "How about we just use them as our main ingredient, too? Would you like to hear our specials today? Let's see…Roast Suit, Pants a la mode, or our popular Hot Fudge Trousers."

Red flipped him a disinterested look and surveyed his attire pointedly.

"Besides the fact that you're the only person in this town who dresses like formal wear is severely going out of style," she objected.

He failed to see the problem with that. In his mind, it was always proper to look your best. Emma seemed to agree with him each time she donned her beautiful leather jacket.

A sharp clicking of stiletto heels interrupted their heated conversation, but he did not welcome it. The only reason he heard the clicking over the karaoke music was because he noticed the swift change in Red's posture and the person in the heels was decidedly in a rage.

"Just what are you two doing?" Regina's bitter voice came from somewhere to his right, deflating their spirits. He was surprised those flowers on the bar did not wither in her presence.

"Doing?" Red stretched the word out obnoxiously, as if it were utterly foreign on her tongue. She blinked innocently—once, twice. Swiveling in his stool, he decided to play along. It sounded too fun to pass up.

"Why, Your Majesty, what ever do you mean?" The two of them wore identical ambiguous smiles. Regina impatiently tapped her claw-sharp nails on the counter.

"Oh, please. Knock it off. You two are hardly Storybrooke's little angels," she spat. For the first time, she noticed the pile of suit pants on the bar. Her eyelids lowered a fraction of an inch. "What are _those?"_

Red swept her hands away from the pile as though the countless pants were riddled with an infectious disease. Apparently, the Gold Virus was catching this year. Even though Regina was oblivious to it, Gold mocked her insolence in his head.

"Those are pants. We're giving them away with every order of hamburgers in the New Year," Red couldn't resist adding for her own pleasure. Regina eyed the pile with nothing short of disgust. "It was Gold's idea."

Red pointed a finger at the dealmaker, earning herself a double glare. Regina's gaze scoured his body, though not longingly. More like a cockroach that desperately needed to be stepped on and squashed immediately.

"I've heard of people taking off their hats to the New Year. But I believe, Rumpel, you would be the first to take off his _pants_ to the New Year. Tell me, what does Miss Swan think of that? Is she intrigued?"

The way she said Emma's name was vicious and tasteless, as though it left a nasty aftertaste on Regina's tongue. He tried to pass it off with indifference, but inside his mind the wheels grinded to a halt. There was a chance she was simply shooting in the dark, but he knew her—he knew that cunning, championing gleam in those black coals.

She knew.

"Don't mistake me for a fool. I've seen the way you two have been conversing all night," she continued when he failed to speak in defense.

"Conversing?" Red was playing the word game again. Gold sensed that she secretly got a kick out of it.

Regina, however, was not pleased. Judging by the pinched frown on her scarlet lips, she was debating on turning Red into a creature that could be easily crushed. A rat, perhaps. Or a fish that she could throw on the fryer. .

"Yes, _conversing_. Talking. Chatting. Howling at the moon, in your case," she snapped.

Those thin heels clicked as she circled Gold, her arm brushing across his back. It burned all the way through his suit, desirable as molten lava. She invited herself to sit on the stool beside him, much to his dismay. _I hope Red put a fresh layer of superglue on that stool. _

He stealthily looked to Red for confirmation, but she slightly shook her head _no _while pretending to fix her earring.

"I may not have the ears of a wolf, but I do have eyes. It doesn't take a genius to realize the two of you are playing some sort of New Year's game," she unraveled the pieces.

_That is debatable, _Gold thought snidely. _ As far as geniuses go, I wouldn't run it by Charming. Knowing his puny intuition, he'll guess we're planning a secret game of Pin the Tail on the Donkey. Or, in this case…cow._ Ugh, Regina was babbling again.

"My guess is: you two are competing for the first kiss of the New Year. Cheesy lovesick couples always do," she concluded with a tiny shrug as if to say _what can you do? _So she was capable of putting two and two together. Brilliant. _Could've fooled me. _

Gold scanned the room for a new source of entertainment. By now, he had hoped to master the art of tuning out Regina. Oh, there was Archie trying to imitate Michael Jackson's _Thriller…_and there was Granny tossing back her third shot in a row….

"I want in," Regina abruptly announced.

Red happened to be taking a sip of beer at the moment of Regina's declaration and she spewed it out all over Regina's black coat. Gold's neck nearly snapped with the speed in which it spun in Regina's direction.

"Excuse me?" Did he hear that incorrectly? Or was Regina seeking to spoil his fun?

_Gee, I wonder what her New Year's resolutions will be? _Jumping up from her seat, Regina glared down at her damp saliva-beer soaked jacket and flung it off. _Now, why doesn't _she_ get reprimanded for stripping? Nobody wants to see that._

"Did I stutter? This little kissing game the two of you are conducting…I want in," she repeated terribly slow as she would to a person who was mentally incapacitated. Gold and Red stared grimly at her.

"So, you're admitting you are part of a cheesy lovesick couple?" The opportunity to mock Regina and make her eat her words was too great a temptation for Gold to ignore. "Oh, but that would imply you were involved with someone and—so sorry, dearie—reflections and cut-outs don't count."

Regina's head reeled back as though he slapped her. Not physically, just verbally.

"Why?" This exploded from Red's mouth, her eyes growing wide in astonishment. Regina tilted her head slightly to the right; Gold interpreted it as a sign that Regina viewed someone beneath her, worth belittling.

"I like to win," she hissed. Her palm extended to Red, her fingers wiggling in anticipation. "I assume you have some immoral set of rules to follow?"

Red glanced at Gold uncertainly, but he gave no indication of his opinion on Regina entering their game. He doubted she would be able to get anyone to willingly kiss her except for Sidney—he was out and about and giving Regina puppy eyes.

Hesitantly, Red pulled out the list from inside her shirt and offered it to Regina. The Queen sneered at it before setting it on the counter ever so carefully with two fingers.

Gold was suddenly glad that Red put the 'no magic' rule down. Otherwise, Regina would try to turn them all into snails. Or would she break her word? Doubtless.

Regina's lips dipped deeper along her face as she scanned the list over. Gold could tell when she reached the 'no magic' part because her mouth moved with the words and the disdain in her eyes was impossible for a blind person to miss. Addicted to magic, Regina should crumble from the detox like an alcoholic going without beer.

Ultimately, she thrust the list back at Red and pursed her lips.

"Game on," she proclaimed, taking the time to meet both sets of opposing eyes.

Gold wasn't intimidated, even with the clock ticking the hours away. Who would ever fall for Regina of their own free will? Besides the stable boy, anyhow. Gold had a working theory that Stable Boy simply mistook her for a horse. It would certainly explain all the grooming and carrots.

Regina offered the two of them a sinister smile dripping with a deadly promise. And then she glided away, off to laugh maniacally about her evil plans.

"And the stakes just got higher," Red glumly observed. Gold watched Regina vanish into the crowd, swift as black smoke, and imagined all the ways in which he would happily knock her off her throne. "So, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?"

Was she referring to him? Did she honestly just insist that they were in some way…_friends?_ How much beer did she drink?

"Not unless you're in a room with a handful of enemies who simply wish to kill you instead of kiss you," he replied. Red grimaced.

"Yeah, but I want to do neither to you. Think about it—temporary allies until Regina is thrown out of the game. Two against one," she bargained. He caught sight of Regina within the crowd and noticed her staring toward Emma. No doubt that would be her first target, not the competitors. Red's cease-fire did sound quite attractive.

Extending his hand, they shook on it.

"Deal."

….

Regina loved to win.

Competitions like these were just opportunities for her to flaunt her charisma and come out on top, one way or another. It gave her a thrill to imagine herself holding the victory over everyone else's heads, especially Rumpelstiltskin's. That miserable imp was practically keeping tallies on a chalkboard and she was regrettably behind.

The first thing she did was seek out the weakest link, the chink in the armor of her competitors. She rarely attacked her opponents directly—if there were some alternative way to hurt them, then that was the path she chose. The path least expected.

Her lips pulled into a mighty grin when she spotted Emma Swan in the crowd.

_Bingo. _

Red and Rumpel would no doubt expect her to retaliate head-on, as they would try to do amongst themselves and her. But Rumpel couldn't possibly earn that first kiss if there was no Emma to pucker up to, could he?

It was sickeningly adorable how he thought he could win the savior's affection.

And judging from the way Emma's blonde head kept turning in his direction every so often, the savior wasn't far off the mark, either. Out of all the men Emma Swan could have in the palm of her hand, why ever would she choose someone like _him? _

An even better question was how to go about getting rid of her?

The wheels in her head cranked around as she scanned the diner for inspiration. She would have to be clever. Super-glue her chair? Nope, Red already used that one on Gold and it would be nauseating to watch his eyes boggle with hunger as she stripped. Ooh, she could turn Emma into one of those annoying singing fish that hang on the wall and—

Except for the fact that she couldn't rely on magic.

Ever since learning it, she had relied on magic for nearly everything. Shopping, opening doors, spying on people through her mirrors when she was bored…Only during the curse was she forced to be…_normal. _She couldn't even snap her fingers and make Henry's room clean itself like Mary Poppins.

Her eyes strayed to the two idiots performing a duet with Granny's karaoke machine—Grumpy and that sugarplum fairy of his. If only she could…if only she could get Emma Swan up there and dump a bucket of pig's blood over her head. Except for the fact that she couldn't use magic. Damn.

Wait a minute.

Since when did Regina Mills, Evil Queen of Storybrooke follow any rules? Since when did she let anyone tell her what to do? Rules were meant to be broken. _Screw it, _she thought as she curled her palm and willed a bucket of blood to appear on the shelf high above the spot where the karaoke singers performed.

Regina would use force to bring it crashing down. It meant she could linger on the fringe of the crowd and look perfectly innocent. No one would suspect her. Hopefully. No one paid any attention to the bucket above the singers' heads, mainly because the singers directed all the attention.

This would feel so good. Just for the hell of it, she downed a beer and licked her lips. This ought to be quite a show.

The dwarf and the fairy finished their cute little melody and submersed themselves into the crowd again, with Nova nearly tripping over five shoes in the process. Archie claimed the microphone. _So, the cricket is the one running this karaoke show, huh? _

"Any other volunteers? It's only ten o'clock," he announced, checking his watch.

Only a few people appeared torn between raising their hands, but not one of them did. She should have known Emma would not have the guts to sing in front of the whole of Storybrooke. Maybe she was one of those people that had the angelic voice of a dying goose.

"I'll bet our Sheriff could put on a spectacular show for us," Regina called out, deliberately staring at the back of Emma's leather-clad body. The blonde spun and glared in her direction, but Archie looked intrigued. As did the rest of Storybrooke, since the murmurs increased to an excited roar.

Regina could feel Gold's sharp eyes digging into her shoulder blades, but she didn't care. Let him watch the show.

"Sounds like a challenge, Emma," Archie spoke into the microphone. But Emma declined with a shake of her head.

"No, thanks. Singing isn't exactly my strong point," she answered roughly. She was going to play it hard, was she? Regina casually shrugged and tried to keep the smile off her red lips.

"Typical," she muttered, loud enough for Emma and most of the crowd to hear. Everyone was watching the exchange as they would an exciting tennis match, their eyes switching back and forth between the two women. Tension made the air heavy as Emma took a few steps closer to Regina, a sour look on her face.

"Excuse me?" Ah, now she could see the common traits between Gold and Emma. They both enjoyed tuning her out. Regina examined her lovely lacquered nails and clicked the tips together. It got on Emma's nerves.

"Ironic, isn't it? The savior is powerful and brave enough to slay a dragon and break the curse to end curses, but her knees turn to Jell-O in face of karaoke. You seem to hate the spotlight, my dear," she retorted, forcing a sickly sweet smile. Emma bristled while Archie egged the crowd on.

"Give me that microphone," Emma grumbled, stalking up to the front of the crowd.

There were a couple cheers, a few people jeering on Emma's name, and more than a couple awed expressions as their Sheriff accepted the mike from Archie. She chose "Arms" by Christina Perri and the crowd slowly quieted to a dull buzz as the soft music filled the diner.

Emma's body seemed frozen in front of the crowd—she looked like a child whose parent was forcing her to participate in the holiday school concert. Tentatively, she began to utter the words, her voice almost inaudible at first. It gradually rose, though not as powerful as it should be.

_I never thought that you'd be the one to hold my heart…But you came around and you knocked me off the ground from the start…_

Regina listened in disbelief for a moment. The Sheriff didn't have a bad voice; not truly American Idol worthy, but not terrible to endure. Not that she would ever openly admit such a thing.

_I hope that you see right through my walls…I hope that you catch me, 'cause I'm already falling…_

Her fist clenched tightly by her side and the bucket swayed. She would wait for the right moment—that moment when Emma stopped singing. And when the crowd showered their applause on her and she stood there smiling like an idiot, then Regina would dump that entire bucket of gooey, sticky, red blood all over her.

The horror on her face would be priceless, not to mention the way the blood would stain her blonde waves and soak over her shoulders, all over that wretched leather jacket. _They're all going to laugh at you, _she elatedly taunted in her mind.

Why did that sound familiar?

Any minute now….

…..

Gold knew something was amiss the moment Regina called Emma out to sing karaoke.

There was a fake smile plastered on her lips as she leaned by the end of the bar, her body half-turned to watch the Sheriff squirm. Knowing Emma, it didn't surprise him that she embraced the challenge. His eyes burned a hole into the back of Regina's head. _What are you playing at, Your Majesty?_

Nonetheless, he resigned to keeping a sharp eye on Emma.

It wasn't difficult at all—the moment she stepped before the crowd, she garnered his attention effortlessly. The way she became slightly nervous about singing was oddly appealing to him. Arousing. Her voice started out low and slowly rose, but he did not have to strain his ears to hear it. Once or twice, she met his eyes in the crowd and he liked to imagine she was singing this song for him.

If only…

The vibrations of his phone in his pocket disrupted his concentration near the end of Emma's song. Grumbling, he debated whether to ignore the mindless hatter. Then, he figured Jefferson was obnoxious enough to continue texting him until he answered.

Digging out his phone, he bent his head to check the glowing screen. Ah, yes: one new message. His lips creased with a frown as he read it. _You claim to be so observant. Regina._

He stared at the screen with perplexity before glancing suspiciously at Regina across the way. There was nothing alarming about her, except for the fact that she was watching Emma quite intently. Was she impressed with Emma's singing or perhaps fuming with jealousy? Was Jefferson hoping to make fun of her? Because he could certainly join in—

The phone buzzed a second time with another message. This one was more impatient in tone, complete with a smiley face that irritably rolled its eyes. _Above Emma's head. Ever seen Carrie? _

Slowly, his eyes lifted to Emma as she finished her song, praised with a round of applause from the crowd. Across her body his gaze traveled—from her chest to her throat, to the top of her golden head. Then upwards still, to the decorative shelf high above, set in the diner's wall. And sitting precariously on the edge, out of view of the crowd, was a bucket.

Immediately his eyes snapped down to Regina and he understood what game she was playing.

She wanted to make a fool out of Emma, tear her down in front of all of Storybrooke. Break her pride into pieces. Frantically, he jumped up from his seat and ignored the third buzz from his phone, but it was already too late.

The bucket was falling.

….

Regina licked her lips again and rapidly clenched and unclenched her clammy hands in anxiousness. Her brow furrowed and her chest heaved with heavy breaths as she anticipated that perfect moment. And Gold would witness his little hero drowning in blood with no comfort to offer.

Would he still want to kiss her then?

The last few notes of the song faded out, Emma's voice dropping to barely a whisper. Then the crowd politely clapped over her performance. The corners of Emma's lips lifted into a modest smile. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gold watching Emma with something like admiration.

And…_now! _

Regina channeled her magic and the bucket swayed…it tilted…and it rocked back into place. It didn't fall over; it didn't topple down to coat Emma in a fountain of crimson fluid. She scowled in displeasure. _Stupid bucket. I said…fall! _

Once more, she thrust her energy forward only to notice that Emma was drawing toward the crowd to leave and slip into invisibility again. Archie had retrieved the microphone and he didn't even have to ask for volunteers before that useless Cinder-girl gladly marched forward, her confidence restored now that Emma had sung.

But Regina had already unleashed everything that was holding the bucket still and…

It was tipping…

Falling…

As though in dramatic slow motion, the bucket leaped into open air and flipped upside-down, right over Ashley's head. A waterfall of thick, oozing red drenched her head and splattered over her light blue dress. The bucket descended and hit Archie on the head, making him collapse to the floor.

Immediately, Red squealed and rushed to his side. She knelt down, nudging him by the shoulders and pulling his head into her lap.

"Jim-Jim? Are you alright? Can you hear me?" His head lolled pitifully over her legs, his glasses crooked on his nose. His eyes barely focused on Red looming above him.

"Amy Winehouse? Aren't you supposed to be in…rehab?" Red picked at her red-streaked hair in confusion. Then, she held up three fingers in front of Archie's pale face.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Archie struggled to lift his head and his mouth pouted as he concentrated on the blurry fingers in his vision. A bump the size of an egg was already forming on his temple.

"Mmm…eight?" Red frowned miserably and enlisted Grumpy's help to carry him over to a booth, where he could rest for a bit. She hurried off to get him an ice-pack.

The rest of the crowd stilled and everyone stared in open-mouthed disbelief. Even Emma was wide-eyed like a deer in headlights as Cinderella stood frozen in place, arms outstretched and dripping with…wait, that didn't even look like blood!

Granny was the only one who gained her composure enough to stomp up to the unrecognizable Cinderella and swipe a finger across the girl's arm. She stuck the red-coated finger in her mouth and tasted it.

"Spaghetti sauce," Granny announced. _It was supposed to be blood, _Regina growled inside her mind. _Why must magic be different here?_

And then Cinderella screeched on the top of her lungs. A couple of people were trying to hold in their laughter, one of them being her prince. Cinderella dashed through the crowd, followed by her boyfriend who called after her with apologies, toting their crying baby.

Regina pretended to be as wonderstruck by everyone else in the crowd, but she caught Gold's eyes glaring in her direction. He knew what she had done. And no doubt he would find some way to make her pay for breaking the rules of the game. Tack on a "please" to ensure her cooperation.

Instead of worrying or showing concern, she grinned maliciously in return. _Game on. _

….

Emma stepped away from the spaghetti sauce-soaked area of the diner in a daze. Her cheeks were flushed and adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her heart race violently in her chest. She had the inkling that bucket of sauce was meant for her. Or was it a silly New Year's prank with Ashley being the unfortunate soul?

Never mind the singing. The singing she could do without for the rest of her life. It was bad enough that the whole town witnessed her embarrassing show. She was never much of a stage girl.

And right now, her mind was active with odd sensations—she felt like she'd just taken a flying leap off a cliff and had yet to reach the bottom. Her belly flopped every which way and the crowd was an unimportant pool of people swallowing her whole.

Maybe that was why she did not notice Regina casually edge her black heel into her path.

All she could recognize was Gold, standing by the bar and holding a cup in the air in a small toast to her, though he never took a sip. She remembered the way he stared at her so intensely while she sang—

Her foot snagged and the thoughts were thrown sideways in her head as her body tumbled forward. Everything was a mad blur around her. Her legs lifted off the ground and her hands flew out to break her fall as the bar rushed toward her…

Emma couldn't even close her eyes as she waited for her skull to connect with the solid edge and pain to explode behind her eyes.

Suddenly, something dark intercepted her descent to the bar and caught her in a secure embrace. The impact was so sudden that her hands barely registered the feel of silk under her fingertips, her head thrusting forward sharply, and her lips…

Her lips landed on someone else's.

She could tell her rescuer was just as surprised by the unexpected collision of their mouths as it barely moved against her own. Sturdy hands gripped her by the forearms as she leaned onto the person's chest—a man's chest. The kiss was soft and warm and lasted only several seconds. Her mind was numb, but she could swear she felt the tip of a tongue sliding across her bottom lip.

Then, she lifted her eyes dreamily and noticed Gold's face a mere inch away. He looked as surprised as she felt and his tongue—that tongue that teased her lip—licked the corners of his mouth as though he had devoured a most delicious hot fudge sundae.

Gradually, life and devilish glee returned to his brown eyes.

"Should I consider that a prelude to our kiss at midnight?" Emma's brain struggled to restore itself, Gold's seductive words crawling across her mind with ease.

"You can…consider that…"

Her mouth hung open unattractively as feeling shot back into her body, her system booting up. It was as though someone had jolted her with a live wire. She realized she was still leaning against him, his hands burning through her leather jacket. Abruptly, she squirmed from his grasp and brushed herself off.

"You can consider that an accident."

"Or perhaps fate," he challenged. He didn't make any move to put distance between their bodies and Emma had never been one to retreat in fear or intimidation. The two of them stood only a foot apart, oblivious to the stares of the crowd. At least, until Gold snapped his eyes among them coldly. "Nothing to see here, I assure you."

The crowd slowly departed among the other end of the diner while Granny cleaned up the spaghetti spill.

"I don't believe in fate," she argued.

She did not like to think of herself as one of those people who believed every little thing happened for a reason and led to greater meaning. She believed that people were capable of making their own luck, making their own choices and being held accountable for them, that fate had little to do with it.

"No?" Gold cocked his head in heightened interest as he dared swoop closer. It reminded her of Jefferson and the way the hatter had invaded her personal space. Was this where he learned it? "Then how do you suppose the dominoes fell precisely as they did? How do you suppose you ended up here in this moment?"

He was playing a game of cat and mouse with her, dangling the cheese in front of her face and begging her to take a bite. She considered the curse and the way she'd ended up in this world, living a lonely, hard life when she could have had her family in the Enchanted Forest.

"You," she whispered accusingly. The excitement on his face in response to her acknowledgement of his power did not go unnoticed by her. He was so close now that she could almost taste the cologne wafting from his suit.

"Exactly. Fate," he murmured. His fingers reached up and stroked a curl of her hair back from her cheek, lingering by her jawline. The tips of his fingers hovered over her skin, not quite touching but near enough that she could imagine it. "That was a remarkable performance, Emma. Any chance of an encore?"

Before she could protest, his other hand slid down into her back pocket, tucking something away inside. Instantly, she swatted his hand away and shot him a dark look of warning. He made a low, playful _tsk-tsk. _

"In your dreams," she retorted, offering him her rudest defiant glare. He simply gazed back calmly, his lips splitting into a toothy grin.

"Sounds like a date." She blanched and shifted uncomfortably.

Emma attempted to sweep past him, but he was graceful enough on his feet to block her path. She bumped into his chest again and scrambled backwards. They danced across the tiled floor—every time she tried to make a quick getaway, he would follow her steps as though reading her mind. A cat playing with a mouse.

Finally, she huffed and glowered at him, silently demanding him to move out of her way.

"I do believe I deserve a kind thank you for breaking your fall. Otherwise, you would have hit your pretty little head on the bar…and it may have taken your own Prince Charming to awaken you in the hospital." She had an odd feeling he was casting himself in that role. "Mind your manners, Emma."

Patiently, he waited with his hands folded ever so nonchalantly over the head of his cane. There was no other way out, was there? If she turned around and headed the opposite way, would she find him standing directly behind her without having moved? _Just get it over with, _Emma thought to herself.

"Thank you," she reluctantly obliged. But still he gazed down at her expectantly. What else could he be waiting for? "You did mean in words, right?" Gold's grin increased and there was a shimmer of amusement in the depths of his eyes.

"Of course," he said. _What else would I have meant? _The smugness was suffocating.

Turning about, he started off but not before handing Regina a smirk on a platter. She didn't look so good—she actually appeared a little green. Emma watched his suited back retreat and then remembered the way his hand had stuffed something in her back pocket.

Scrambling inside, she pulled out a wad of twenties.

…

She was trying to escape into the kitchen, someplace away from the bustling crowds where she could release her climbing rage in peace. She made it to the freezer and then rapidly began to pace. Back and forth, grinding a path into the tiled floor.

How could it not work? It had been such a failure! Instead of catching Miss Swan, it hit the Cinder-girl instead. What did that lowly, clumsy-footed princess mean to her? Nothing. Absolutely worthless in her efforts.

Sure, Archie had gone down, which meant the wolf was hurting. But the collateral damage was simply not enough, not yet satisfying. It wasn't enough to ease the fire brimming her veins. Not to mention how she anticipated the Sheriff cracking her skull open like a watermelon. But what had to happen? She fell into Rumpel's arms and they kissed.

They. Kissed!

It was choking her throat, gagging her until she had the urge to vomit up her inner organs.

Frustrated to no end—oh, how she despised losing—she gripped the steel rails of a nearby cart that held an assortment of pans and baking sheets. Roughly, she huffed in and out. Then she brutally kicked the cart, the pans rattling thunderously.

"Temper, temper," a silky voice ridiculed from behind.

Pursing her crimson lips, she spun on her heel as the dull thud of Rumpel's gold-tipped cane echoed in her ears. Figured he would want to have a chat at this convenient moment. _Come to slay the dragon and rescue your fair princess?_

"Granny's stocked with the latest Betty Crocker kitchen set. Admittedly, I'm jealous," she darted around the truth. But he knew her all too well.

Those brown eyes were two pieces of frozen earth crushing her shoulders. It pinned her in place, spiraling along her limbs like barbed wire. Whatever he lacked in height and brawn, he more than made up for in presence and intimidation.

"I don't doubt that," he mused. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Was he honestly implying that she was envious…of Emma Swan? That was utterly ridiculous. "That was an amazing magic trick you conducted. What's your secret?"

He was mocking her. Twisting the dagger into her gut in hopes that she would scream and beg for mercy. Feigning calm, she crossed her arms and relied on the ignorance card.

"Magic trick? I don't know what you mean," she lied rather smoothly, her face placid. But he saw through her like glass. It took a good liar to recognize an equally good liar.

"Oh, I think you do," he replied crossly. Those pianist fingers drummed on top of each other, daring her to object. Probably anticipating the first available opportunity to wrap around her throat and cut off all circulation. Touchy.

"The rules clearly stated—" His jaw locked in his irritation.

"Ah, yes. The rules that you're more than likely to break. You may have learned my magic, dearie, but you failed the lesson of keeping your word," he hissed. As he took one step forward, she took an involuntary step back. He was trying to corner her. "Let's get one thing straight, shall we? From now on, you are to obey those rules to the tee."

Regina's back collided against the freezer door, but still he advanced until he was close enough to touch. Not that she desired to in any form—she'd rather lock herself in this freezer and become an ice statue for decoration.

"I don't have to—"

"_Please," _he added and arched an eyebrow expectantly.

He was relying on his little contracts and deals to demand her obedience. Annoyed, she shoved away from the freezer and thrust a nail into his chest, making him stumble back. It was a fiery dance of power that never ended.

"Your pleases have lost their punch," she retorted. What would he do? Turn her into a snail and crush her? Snails were so last century. Sneering, he caught her finger and squeezed until she gasped. She pried it away and rubbed it as it turned red.

"Have they? When you visited me in my cell, I believe I said something along the lines of…_In this land, should I come to you for any reason, you shall heed my every request. You shall do whatever I say—"_

"_So long as I say please," _they finished together. Her voice was distorted in a nasally, crude tone. He gave her a condescending look for mimicking his accent. "I know. I haven't forgotten." He snorted in disagreement.

"Oh, really? Always nice to make an impression," he gloated, smoothing a hand along his dress shirt. She curled her lip in pure disgust. "Then there is no misunderstanding. We are still in this new land, are we not? I did approach you instead of the other way around. It's all about the wording. Like it or not, Your Majesty, you're inclined to do whatever I ask. If I demand you to, say, _kiss my boot,_ I expect you to bend your arse over and show some fealty."

Defiantly, she did not give any sign of compliance. It only dug further under his skin, which only served as her entertainment.

"And if I don't? What then, Rumpel?" His lips snaked into an icy grimace. His hand hovered over her chest, right where her heart pounded. He wouldn't dare.

"Don't forget—_I'm_ the one with the power around here. Despite how hard you try to convince yourself, I can easily make your existence in this land a living hell," he spat. His hand dropped away, leaving her with an invasive chill.

"You've finally found yourself another girl, hmm?"

She couldn't resist sticking a knife into his twisted, cruel heart. People like them were not meant to be happy, so why did he insist on defying the odds? The expression on his face gravely darkened, his irises blackening until she was nearly staring into Death's face.

"May the best kisser win…fairly," he said, turning to leave her in hollow, ebony thoughts. Oh, they were far from finished yet.

"And don't think I'm stupid enough to believe you didn't have something to do with making my son fall asleep. That boy stays up past midnight on the weekends. I swear, if you put him under a sleeping curse—"

If he did, Emma would be the one to wake him…again. It would tear her to shreds to witness it.

"Why would I do something as reckless as that?" He scoffed over his shoulder without slowing his pace. "Sleeping curses are your expertise."

….

_**I happen to think "Arms" by Christina Perri would fit the Golden Swan ship quite well. And I figured I'd up the stakes a little. **_

_**Now I shall thank all those that have given me such wonderful reviews recently: The Auburn Girl, SakuraBlossom58, spankingfemfatale, 666Neme666, nuckythompson, Huntress4455, helikesitheymikey, la-stella-immortale, DragonRose4, louisethelibrarian, DaesGatling, discotimelord, AngelofDarkness1605, Marcie Gore, mydirt09, SwanQueen4055, and Musicalfan2012. **_

_**So much love for this story! Thank you, everyone! You have no idea how much it means to me that you guys are enjoying it so much. **_


	5. 10:00 Part Two

_**A/N: Hello, dearies! Ready for more New Year's fun? This is a slightly longer chapter than the others, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it. There's some flirting, some fighting, some apple-picking…but don't let me spoil it for you! **_

"I'm going to burn that witch," Red seethed, shooting darts with her eyes into Regina's back.

With Red's permission, Gold had been able to heal Archie's trauma, but the man was still unconscious as he lay across one of the pleather booths. The only reason Gold had agreed to the exception to their rule was to undo the damage Regina had done—and because Archie had been singing "Rehab" nonstop.

Red angrily wrung a cold cloth out and slapped it on Archie's forehead.

"Maybe I'll pour some water on her and watch her melt," she barked. Her fingers itched for the glasses of water that had been discarded throughout the diner, untouched by the patrons.

"Myth," Gold immediately trampled her fantasies. "Not all witches are destroyed so easily."

Red smoothed the cloth more gently over Archie's skin and never let go of his hand. She peered up at Gold from under her eyelashes and scowled.

"What happened to the Wicked Witch, then?"

Gold suppressed an amused chuckle. Oz was so unusual a land compared to their home—Munchkins, rude talking trees, flying monkeys, and little girls that swiped your shoes after you died. _Those were supposed to be my shoes! Thief. _

"Which one? The one that was generally a walking pickle or the one whose kryptonite was a farmhouse?" Red offered him a serious stare. Waitresses were no fun these days. What ever happened to using roller-skates, for example? "She was allergic."

He watched Regina suspiciously, but always made sure he was within viewpoint of Emma at all times. He would have liked to accompany her, but her wary looks suggested it would not bode well for him. In contrast to the beginning of the night, she was loosening up to him, but she was also stuck at the crossroads between ultimately giving in and hanging on to that last shred of rebellion.

Stubborn swan.

"You must be happy with yourself. Your love interest didn't get assaulted with a bucket. And you conveniently got a kiss. Wonder if she'll still kiss you at midnight," Red mused sourly. Such a bad sport, wasn't she? Gold ignored her barbs. _Oh, she liked it. She hasn't returned my money. _"You do realize that if you hadn't healed Archie…I'd have been out of the game."

She was gazing up at him with a mixture of awe and curiosity, but he made a point of looking the other way. It was over and done now; there was no reasonable logic in lingering over it. The irony of Regina handing him his victory on a platter by disqualifying Archie was great, but…maybe it was that one drink finally getting to his head.

"Thank you," Red whispered almost inaudibly. He couldn't help but whirl around and gape at her as though she had lost her mind. No one had thanked him for anything since….centuries ago. No one had the sense to imagine his deeds worth thanking.

Yes, the drink had something to do with this odd delusion he was experiencing.

"Perhaps the game just isn't as exciting without worthy opponents," he replied, but they both knew it was a smokescreen. Red bit down on her lip and nodded unconvincingly. Suddenly, her face grew worrisome and her focus traveled past his shoulder.

"Heads up. Whale keeps checking over his shoulder at Regina. I think he likes what he sees. Either that, or he's paranoid the vampire will suck his blood." She pointed behind him and he slightly shifted in place.

Gold found his old pal frequenting the bar in line of sight of Regina. Red was right: the doctor often watched Regina over his shoulder, his gaze wandering everywhere on her lean body. The attention rested longest on her legs and chest. _Feeling lonely, are we, Frankie? Traitor. _

"And just look at how she's playing Sidney like a violin. The guy's practically drooling a river. Clearly, she's expecting him to fall on his knees in front of her," Red continued.

Oh, yes, he noticed. _Expecting _was the wrong word—if Regina demanded that Sidney fulfill his fantasies, the genie would argue not. If Regina asked Sidney to kiss her, she'd better be prepared for the most intense make-out session of her life.

"I'll handle this," Gold muttered before stalking in the direction of the lust-eyed Whale.

Perhaps he could deter the doctor's plans of putting the moves on Regina. And if for some inconceivable reason Whale ignored him and went for it, at least it would serve to make the genie jealous. Perhaps they would fight to the death.

Worst death ever, in his opinion.

"Aiming a little high, aren't we?"

Gold helped himself to a seat beside Whale without asking. The doctor lounged against the bar, trying to look appealing. Reluctantly, the good doctor tore his eyes from Regina's apples and his attitude soured in light of his new companion.

"Since when do you place the Queen in high regard?"

He sounded like he wanted to attach an insult to the end of that sentence. Gold dared him to do it, just so he could have the pleasure of unleashing all the insults he had created for Frankenstein over the years. _You never know what you'll hear by the water cooler these days. Or behind the bushes._

"Oh, I've made a note of ranking the inhabitants of our world on a scale of one to ten," he bragged. What else would he keep that old journal for in his shop? A diary? "Emma—10. Archie? Hmm…7. And a half. You fall somewhere below Regina. She's a one," he explained.

Whale became flustered in trying to understand Gold's logic.

"So, you're saying you've ranked me as…point 5."

A glimmer of disappointment radiated from his blue eyes. Too harsh on his ego? Gold shrugged loosely. The scientist needed to be knocked down a few pegs. As if science prevailed over the glory of magic.

"Your world looked funny," he retorted. "The lack of color gave me headaches. You shouldn't feel too dismal, though. Your score is higher than Charming's. He's a .2." He hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward Regina. "You have no chance."

Whale openly scoffed at the alleged conclusion.

"If she can take value in a huntsman that has no heart, I'm sure I'm more than worthy enough for her standards. Maybe she prefers guys with accents," he insisted, puffing out his chest. Gold was thankful he wasn't drinking anything—it would have come shooting out his nose.

"_What_ accent? Hate to alarm you, but you might want to consider hanging _Missing_ posters around town. Your accent flew out the window, dearie." That was quite a joke. He was dying with laughter inside. "Besides, Regina loathes me. Don't mean to toot my own horn, but my accent is the best one here."

"Arguably," Whale countered. Determination spanned his face as he edged off his stool. "I suppose I'll have to prove you wrong, then." Gold beckoned his hand in Regina's direction.

"Oh, please do. Should I take notes?"

Whale glared at Gold bitterly before heading off to join Regina's side. Regina was still charming Sidney only a few feet away, their backs facing his way. Whale went unnoticed by the Queen. Or else she was ignoring him.

Maybe Whale should slap her on the back of the head. It's what _he_ always did whenever Regina didn't listen to him while he taught her the ways of magic.

A red shadow flickered in the corner of his eye.

"Whose side are you on? You're supposed to be discouraging our enemies, not _encouraging_ them to come together! Make war, not love!" Red wailed in his ear. She was slipping into a panic. But he was perfectly calm and optimistic.

"Never underestimate someone who is acting…with a robot claw," he lilted devilishly. He reached over the bar and obtained the children's toy he had stored there. Red's eyes lit up with intrigue as he snapped it open and shut.

Silent on his feet, he slipped along the bar toward the place where Regina stood between her two lover boys, but not close enough that they registered his presence. Ever so deftly, he extended the robot claw and snapped the jaws open. Just a little closer now…

"_Yeow!" _

Regina jumped and screeched as something pinched the left side of her butt. She glared accusingly at Whale, who had the unbelievable nerve to smolder in return.

"Excuse you! Keep your hands to yourself or you'll find yourself waking up to them on your pillow in the morning! Severed!" She always hated being manhandled. Especially by fumbling, arrogant idiots. _She_ preferred to have control over _them_.

Whale grimaced at the gruesome mental image. He stared down at his hands in bewilderment. Sometimes, they had a mind of their own, but he was certain they had been in his pockets the whole time!

Regina noted the denial on the doctor's face and checked over her shoulder for any lurking suspects. The only suspicious man was Rumpel and he wasn't even paying attention to her; he was busy eyeing Red. Probably coming up with another plot in their little war.

_The day Rumpelstiltskin grabs my ass is the day he volunteers to sell Girl Scout cookies door-to-door with the nuns. He wouldn't do it even if I was the only woman left in the world! _

It had to be Whale. That smug, slimy, flirtatious mad scientist.

Didn't he see that she was seducing Sidney at the moment? She had him wrapped around her finger and that was all she needed to win this competition at midnight. She sent Whale a warning look before deliberately putting her hand on Sidney's arm and forcing her brightest smile.

"As you were saying?"

Her precious Mirror stuttered as Regina's hand clasped his forearm, slipping upwards with ease. He struggled to recall his last words. Something about that cruddy newspaper of his. All she had to do was bat her eyes, touch him a little in the right places, and he'd be melting—

"Damn," she hissed, leaping about a foot in the air. There would be bruises on her butt in the morning! Did Whale have to squeeze so hard? "What the hell did I just tell you? Do you want me to cut them off?"

Whale blanched and gazed back with obvious alarm. He held up his hands in surrender.

"It wasn't me, I swear it! I would never—" Regina cut him off with a humorless cackle.

"Please. Do not lie to me. Just like you've never done it to Ruby, either. Every date you go on, if I remember. Dates with other women," she tossed in his face while she rubbed her aching behind. Whale winced, despite the fact that it was his counterpart who always showered attention over Ruby.

That was when Sidney stepped forward in her defense. Her knight in shining…glass.

"Listen, I think you should leave the Queen alone. She has told you to stop…feeling her up," he mumbled for lack of a better phrase. Whale stumbled back a step and gawked at Sidney openly. His hands raked through his sandy hair as the two cornered him.

"And I told you I didn't do it. What, are you going to fight me for her, too?"

It was mostly bravado, but Sidney didn't seem to take it that way. The fool was hopeless over Regina and this was his chance to impress her. To stand in the name of his unrequited love. So, he straightened his spine and nodded.

"How about you and I settle this outside?" That was people always said before a fight. Regina pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. A pattern of murmurs started humming about the crowd, growing louder with every chant: _Fight! Fight! Fight! _

With a crowd dogging their heels, Sidney and Whale emerged outside and were thrust into the freezing cold night. To the parking lot they went, with nearly everyone in the diner anticipating a good old-fashioned fight. Regina remained close to Sidney and crossed her arms defiantly, but she was secretly pleased. After all, how long had it been since men battled for her?

She noticed Gold lingering on the edge of the crowd, mocking the two fools with his eyes. Was he jealous of the attention she earned? Not even he had women tearing their hair out over him. All he had was Emma. The little Sheriff whose shoulders Gold was draping his jacket around this very moment. _And they say chivalry is dead._

The crowd formed a tight circle around the two fighters. Sidney and Whale faced each other with matching expressions of uncertainty, their fists clenched by their sides. It might have been in their best interests to decide to walk away, but both had their reasons for sparring—Sidney to prove his love for Regina and Whale's pride that refused to be called into question.

"Ready when you are, Mirror Man," Whale boasted, spreading his arms wide. Sidney removed his fedora and dropped it at his feet. The wind instantly picked it up and flung it away. Cheers arose from the crowd as Sidney assessed his opponent.

"I know exactly how to handle this," he stated, holding a finger to the sky. To everyone's puzzlement, the reporter approached Whale head-on…and began to circle him rapidly. Whale's eyes followed him as he spun around and around in a pattern.

"What are you doing?"

Whale started turning around to try to follow Sidney's movements. Sidney's pace was quick with his hands flapping at his sides as he braced against the wind. Regina looked ready to bang her forehead against the brick wall. Some knight he was.

"I read this in an article once," Sidney said matter-of-factly. Regina made a sound of displeasure. _In which article? Yours? _"You see, you are drunk. By walking around you in circles, you'll soon become dizzy and confused. Am I really walking in circles? Or is the world spinning? You can't keep up with me, you'll start to stumble to your feet…Why aren't you stumbling?"

Whale thrust his numb hands into his pockets and savored the amusement of having Sidney walk in complete circles. If anyone was making a fool of himself, it wouldn't be him. His reputation was much too good for it.

"Hmm…good question. Maybe because _I'm not drunk?"_ Sidney abruptly came to a halt in front of Whale. For a brief moment, he teetered on his feet.

"Oof…maybe I'm the one who's drunk," he murmured as his legs wobbled.

Whale grew rather impatient watching Sidney become the laughingstock of Storybrooke and rushed toward him. The unruly crowd egged him on as his intentions of winning an easy battle became clear.

As soon as Whale was close enough, he wrenched his arm back in preparation of dealing the first blow. At the moment that his arm swung forward through the air, Sidney's dizziness grew so terrible that he doubled over and Whale's fist whooshed through the empty space where his head had been.

Bent at the knees, Sidney seized the opportunity of Whale's failed delivery to ram his head into the doctor's stomach, careening him backwards. Whale collided painfully onto his back, but Sidney kept going. His feet tripped over Whale's spread-eagle ones and he lost his momentum.

"No, no, wait!"

Whale held up his hands in defense as Sidney toppled over. He landed squarely on Whale's chest, driving the breath from his lungs. Rolling off of the doctor, Sidney lay on his back and moaned at the overhead night sky. Whale tried to get up, only to groan along with him.

A few people dispersed in disappointment as they realized the fight was nearly over, even though it never truly began in the first place. Regina and Emma approached the sides of the fallen men, whose heads were lolling on the pavement. Weaklings.

"Is there a doctor?" Emma inquired from the retreating group of citizens, but no one stepped forward. She bounced on her haunches and glowered. "Oh, come on. You're telling me he's the only doctor this place has?" She pointed at the moaning Whale.

A few nurses lumbered into view and reluctantly offered to escort the two men to the hospital. Emma helped the women load Whale and Sidney into their cars, ignoring the pinched frown on Madame Mayor's lips. There went her lover boys.

Red powered down her camera and blew warm breath into her hands. It was time to head back inside and warm up.

"This is….so not going on YouTube," she sighed.

…..

"Sobering up, are we?"

Emma plucked her nose from the fairytale book as the all-too-familiar accent lilted in her ear. For a guy with a cane, he sure was stealthy.

The exposure to Gold was more than she was used to—if she wasn't careful, she might start to like it. _Start? _A small voice nagged inside her mind.

"After that little falling-kissing incident, I figured I should stay off my feet for a little while," she said, turning a page in the book. "Plus, David just stumbled out of the bathroom white as a ghost, so Mary Margaret left to bring him home. Henry's asleep. And…I'm here."

If this wasn't a cry for his company, he didn't know what was.

"Well, I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I let you spend New Year's Eve alone," he boasted. Not that he was much of a gentleman in precarious situations. "Mind if I sit?"

He gestured to the booth, asking her permission. Slightly, she dipped her head in approval.

He slid into the seat opposite her and propped his bad leg up, hissing as it straightened. He had been using his magic to heal the discomfort in small doses, but it still ached after long periods of strain and excitement. On the bright side, Emma might shed a little sympathy.

"Good to know there's some part of you that's human and not a leather-wearing omnipotent wizard."

Or not.

Wait…she knew about the leather tendencies?

How much had Snow and Charming told her already? If Charming tried to glorify that little swordfight in the Infinite Forest and claim he won, that shepherd would have more than bowel problems to deal with. Sensing his puzzlement, Emma revealed her cell phone.

"Someone's been sending me mysterious text messages. They're very informational."

Jefferson.

That hatter was going to die.

Unless of course this was a ploy to engage Emma's attraction to him and she happened to have a taste for men in leather, in which case he would proudly send the hatter a gift basket once this night was over.

"So, how did you hurt your leg?" Gold paused in rubbing the sinewy muscle of his thigh and gritted his teeth.

_That_ question. Of all the ones Emma could have asked, it had to be that one. Was she truly a mortal siren luring him to his death? Seeking to locate the crux of his being and despair?

She stared fixedly at him—he could feel the line of her gaze floating over his face, a sticky web clinging to his skin. She drummed her fingers on the corner of the page as she waited.

"It's….a long story," he murmured half-heartedly. Emma shrugged.

"I have time. There's a little less than two hours to midnight," she pointed out.

Two hours. Was that all there was? Panic began to flow through him; it sounded so short a timeframe when she said it. The ticking of the diner's clock seemed to pound with each movement of the black hands.

He purposely avoided her eyes. He couldn't very well tell her the truth, could he? That would be ridiculous.

What would she think if he made it painstakingly clear that he had been a coward all his life? Would she shake her blonde head pitifully and say _I knew it? _Would she mock him, laugh, be reassured that she in all her goodness and strength was better than him?

He couldn't tell her.

But she was still waiting. Underneath the table, her foot nudged against his other leg. If he left her questioning, rudely stood up and left, she would think him cold and distant. Not that it was far from her current perception, but it would likely halt their progress. It would definitely suggest he did not trust her.

Or did he?

It was a tough decision, eating away at his innards. He laid his head against the wall and noticed that her green eyes were scanning the open book again. A shimmer of hope raised his spirits. Maybe…just maybe she had let him off the hook.

"What are you reading tonight?" But she held up a hand.

"You answer my question…and I'll answer yours." Damn.

She had no intention of letting him off the hook, no matter his obvious uneasiness. Her curiosity was much too thirsty to allow it. And his curiosity of the story that so fiercely transfixed her attention was too great to ignore.

He made his decision. He squeezed his thigh a little too hard. _Here goes nothing. You're going to hate me, Emma. _

"I injured my leg back in our world…about 300 years ago," he started. Her eyes widened at the revelation of his age, but she did not press him. Maybe she was terrified. "Back then, I was a spinner living in poverty. I had a newborn son and a wife. The recruiters ripped me from my family and thrust me on the frontlines. It was during the first Ogre War."

He paused then, his voice having grown rough. He tried to register the emotions on Emma's face. It was a stony blank slab, impossible to decipher. Reluctantly he continued, closing his eyes as he did.

"It was the same as entering the bowels of Hell. The Ogres came at us, slaughtering our numbers in handfuls before any soldier was given a chance to raise a weapon to defend himself. I watched them die, countless men. And I…I…" The words were sandpaper in his throat.

"You ran," she flatly filled in the blank. It sounded more like a spoken fact than an accusation, or maybe that was his imagination playing tricks on his mind. He could not meet her eyes. The insult _coward _must be peppering her tongue.

"Those men died, I lived. For my choice, _they_ restrained me and destroyed my leg. Twisted it, broke it, damaged it so that I would never run again. It was as much my repulsive brand as a scarlet _A_ was meant for harlots."

And now that awful word would be flung at him. Emma's eyes would burn like two raging emeralds, her pink lip would curl in disgust, her fingers would recoil from ever touching him.

But none of it came.

"That's it?"

His head snapped up in confusion. Surely, he must have heard wrong. She did not look angry or disgusted at all. Lounging back in her seat, there was a miraculous gleam in her irises. It appeared she did not fully understand the reason for his shame. It numbed his mind with rigid disbelief.

"Dearie, have you not heard a single word I've said?" Her attitude remained unchanged—it did not automatically hit her with the impact of one thousand bricks. If anything, it only placated further as she leaned forward to touch his arm.

She. Touched. His. Arm.

"You want to know what I heard?" He was all ears. His bones seared from her touch. "The story I just heard was of a man whose only purpose in life was to make it by with his family and was forced into war against Ogres. Mary Margaret…um, Snow told me about Ogres. Supposedly, they're a lot bigger than humans and impossibly strong, right?"

Absently, he nodded. He was still stuck somewhere on 'the story I just heard.'

"Yes. The only possible way for a human to kill an Ogre is to shoot it in the eye," he confirmed. The rest of an Ogre's body was much too resilient to be struck down by swords or clubs.

Emma waved a hand aside as if he somehow proved her theory.

"There you go. It didn't matter how many men there were on the frontlines. Unless your soldiers were trained to be sharpshooters, I'd say you didn't stand a chance. And what kinds of recruiters have the heart to rip apart a family and risk a mother and newborn son to starve or be left alone? If you expect me to side with _them_, you're wrong."

His forehead lined with perplexity as he studied her intently. The pain in his leg was all but forgotten.

"Emma, you don't understand. I ran—"

"So?" She tilted her head as if it were no big deal. As if she had already accepted what it meant. "Maybe you should stop blaming yourself for running away from a doomed war and start thinking about what you were running toward. Family."

Just like that, her hand left his arm and she returned to her book. Gradually, the noise of the diner slammed back into his ears and his lungs released the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

It was impossible a notion to wrap his mind around—she _didn't care. _No, it wasn't that she didn't care. Just that she didn't mind.

And for the first time in a long time, he honestly felt good. The ache in his leg had certainly decreased.

"Rumpelstiltskin," Emma carefully pronounced from across the table. Ooh, he enjoyed the way his name sounded on her tongue. It tingled all the way down his spine, warmed him in all the right places.

"Yes, Emma?" Deliberately, he lifted her hand to his lips and dared to press a kiss to her knuckles. The tip of his tongue darted out to taste her skin. Cracking a dry smile, she wiggled her hand free of his mouth.

"No, I just answered your question. You asked me what story I'm reading. As luck would have it…yours." She tapped a finger against the page of her book. Oh. That's what she meant. Here he assumed they had reached the next level of their relationship. "I figured you hurt your leg by throwing a temper tantrum and splitting yourself in two."

"Don't believe everything you read. That is _not_ how it happened," he insisted. Catching on to his displeasure, she closed the book. "For instance, am I really that short?"

Emma gave him the once-over, at least to the point where his waist became hidden by the table.

"I don't know. Think we should measure you up against one of the dwarves?" Wasn't she a clever one? So witty, so brave, so humorous. She was rounding out to be his kind of woman.

"You have quite a sharp tongue, Emma. Luckily for you, I know how to handle such confidence," he hinted and licked his upper lip. Emma narrowed her eyes, but did not flinch away. Her gaze traveled across the room to where Red sat upright with Archie, who was blessedly alert.

"I saw what you did for Dr. Hopper," she revealed, wonder transpiring over her features. That was news to him—he hadn't been aware the lovely Sheriff was watching. Fate must be on his side tonight. "You healed him…and you never struck a deal with Red for it."

After earning his kiss with Emma tonight, perhaps he would let Red and Archie use his cabin in the woods for a weekend. As a token of gratitude for their role.

"The poor cricket had been caught under that bucket. I figured that was pain enough. Otherwise, he'd have to send himself to therapy." He tried to pass it off. It wasn't every day that these things happened around him and it would not happen every day if he had his way. But Emma leaned forward and smiled.

"I liked it. Maybe there is some good in you after all," she murmured. "Or maybe you secretly ship Hopping Red." A giggle threatened to erupt from his throat. That would be the day, wouldn't it? But he did like that glimmer of appreciation vibrating off Emma.

Shipping Hopping Red—that was a good one. It was miraculous enough that Jefferson was shipping him with Emma…

Jefferson.

Why hadn't he thought of it before? That was his answer to the conundrum that was Regina. It filled him with excitement until he practically leaped up from his seat. Emma darted forward and latched onto his wrist.

"Wait. So, how does that story really unfold, then?"

Her focus dropped to the book again and he knew her curiosity was on the verge of being unsatisfied once more. It was a voracious thing, even worse than Alice's.

Gently, he pried his wrist away and took hold of her own. Turning it over, he rubbed her skin in soothing circles. Spinning…just like his precious wheel.

"That, my dear, is a story for another time."

He let her be, leaving her mind buzzing with eager questions. Perhaps one day he would share that tale with her.

…

_Ring…ring…ring…_

"Sorry, I can't come to the phone right now. If you're calling for a tea party, press 1. If you're plotting to steal my hats, press 2. If you're a magical imp struggling to woo the current girl of his dreams and requires dating advice, press 3."

No-good hatter. Like he was falling for that trick. Jefferson obviously ate too much buttery popcorn. It went straight to his head.

"Knock it off, Jefferson. I heard you pick up your phone," Gold growled. His irritation warded off the nasty chill in the air. There was a harsh chuckle on the other end.

"Really? Did it sound something like this?" _Click. _Gold pulled the phone away from his ear and stared down at it open-mouthed in disbelief. Did that madman just…hang up? On _him?_ Who did he think he was?

Seething, he punched in Jefferson's number again and listened to the dull tone in his ear. That idiot must be rolling on the floor. Literally. There was that noise again—a faint click as Jefferson answered.

And all he did was breathe. No greeting. Just deep, rough breaths into the phone.

How disturbing.

"Jefferson, I know you're there. I can hear you breathing!"

In and out, in and out. It was quite unnerving. He felt like one of those expendable people in horror movies being stalked by the killer in the dead of night. Well, there _were_ the nonstop text messages. He had to say something to catch the hatter's attention.

"I kissed Emma."

The breathing halted.

"Did I miss something? Is this _Degrassi? _Am I supposed to be one of your…dare I say it…girlfriends?" What kind of moronic language was he babbling now? And then Jefferson's tone altered to a squeaky, chipper imitation of a girl. "Oh, I am so proud of you. That's right—you go, girlfriend! You can't see it right now, but I am curling my hair around my finger."

It was a sad thought, but he had a crystal clear picture in his mind of Jefferson doing just that.

"You have no hair to curl…anymore," he shot back. Not since he up and chopped that ridiculous mop of hair off his head. Good riddance, too.

"As opposed to your feathery long locks," Jefferson taunted. A hand instinctively flew to the ends of his hair. They were not feathery…long…locks…were they? He waved the matter aside impatiently.

"You've been sending Emma text messages about me?" A short laugh echoed through, but it was muffled. Jefferson must be hiding it behind his hand. Rolling on the floor, indeed.

"I figured she should know precisely who she's kissing. Don't worry—I made you look good. Your accent _is _the best one in that diner, if I do say so myself. Even Emma agreed." Emma…said that? That she liked his accent? Something was strange here. He smelled a rat.

"And why would you care to dress me up for Emma and stick on a sparkly bow?" Even if he was the infamous dealmaker, Jefferson could prove to be just as sneaky.

"Let's just say…" A pause. _You'll owe me a favor? _"I ship you hard. Be thankful—for having that cricket hypnotize Grace and put her to sleep, I could have told Emma all about your skin problems and lack of dental hygiene. I _will _get revenge for that, by the way."

How clever of the hatter to announce his plans for revenge ahead of time. It was a trait that he shared in common with Regina, always gloating _before_ the deathblow. Whereas he kept all his inner plans and secrets close to the chest, locked inside his head where no one else could reach.

"How about you get revenge on someone more worth your time? Say, Regina?" The silence was heavy in the darkness. It somehow made him more aware of the biting cold and the shadows dancing across the street.

"You need my help," Jefferson surmised. The smugness in his voice cut through loud and clear.

Gold cursed himself for resorting to the hatter, but what else was there to do? The Queen had to be kicked off her mighty throne. Perhaps he would claim her place, wave a scepter.

"Are you going to do it or not?" His patience was running terribly thin. Jefferson scoffed, an abrupt _hah!_

"Of course I'll do it. I'd never pass up the chance to strike against the Queen. Not after what she did to me in Wonderland. A thousand deaths wouldn't be enough to pay for separating me from Grace." There was a giant inhale of air. "What do you want me to do?"

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Go mad." And then he snapped the phone shut.

….

Jefferson bundled up tighter against the treacherous winds as he trudged through the Queen's backyard.

It was buried under a foot of snow, the flakes drifting into his face and landing on his eyelashes. _Baby, It's Cold Outside _played nonstop inside his head. In his hand was a celebratory bottle of whiskey to warm him up, but it was nearly empty. Over his shoulder was a black strap that kept digging into the side of his neck as a heavy black bag was dragged through the snow.

The imp would definitely be paying for this. He owed him big-time.

He stepped next to the apple tree and studied it up and down. The Queen's prized apple tree, one of her most valuable possessions. She was going to miss it.

"Go mad," he repeated the imp's order as he smashed the bottle on the ground and unzipped the black bag. He grinned widely as he spotted the item he was looking for. This would be fun. _Guess what, Regina? It's apple picking season, _he thought gleefully. "How's this for mad?"

And he revved up the chainsaw.

…..

Regina never thought the day would come when she admitted she was running out of suitors. She had always had so many—Graham, Sidney, Whale apparently…

But now, as she lounged with her elbows on the bar and her hips rocking in an attempt to look desirable, there were practically none left. Striking back against people like Emma and Archie was a piece of cake, but how could she possibly win unless someone kissed her?

Oh, she'd messed up.

And who would she target as a suitor, anyway? One of the dwarves? According to the Blue Jellyfish, dwarves were incapable of love. Jefferson? Who knew what that madman was doing on that hill? Gold? Hah, that was hysterical! He'd rather drop off a cliff face-first than show her intimacy.

Her eyes scoured the diner until they rested on Archie.

After that mishap with the bucket, Archie had been knocked unconscious but now he was sitting at the end of a booth with an icepack pressed to his temple. She wondered how hard he had really been hit. Hard enough to damage his senses?

Oh, it was a devious thought unfurling in her mind. Devious was her middle name, wasn't it? It made the corners of her ruby lips curl in delight. Wouldn't it be the perfect way to drive a wedge between the wolf and her cricket? Stealing him right from under her paws?

Regina could easily imagine the horrified look on Red's face if she earned a kiss instead.

Granted, she had never considered getting cozy with Storybrooke's therapist, even when Henry was attending sessions. But she had been known to experiment before. In any case, she double-checked her poised lips in her little hand mirror before gliding over to his seat.

"Good evening, Dr. Hopper," she purred richly. Immediately, he jumped at the sound of her voice. His skin was pasty under the diner's milky light. "Or can I call you Archie? Or perhaps Jiminy? We've known each other so long, I feel we should be on a first-name basis."

Without his permission, she took the seat directly across from him and crossed her legs leisurely. She made sure they were stretched out into the aisle, to offer him a chance at their slender, delicate form. Her foot nudged along his leg and his breathing quickened.

"E-Evening, Regina," he choked out. His eyes rolled wildly behind his glasses, glancing every which way except in her direction. How rude.

"Why so jumpy?"

She took her sweet time leaning over the tabletop, mentally dancing over the fact that her little black dress exposed her cleavage generously. Just as she expected, Archie's eyes noticeably dropped downward before darting away.

"Regina, are you here to talk about something?" That was not the response she wanted at all. Always business with these people, never pleasure. His insolence caused her temper to flare.

"Just because you earned your Ph.D. from a curse doesn't mean everyone who talks with you is in need of therapy," she snapped. _Patience, _she chided herself. Once more she forced a dazzling smile and she brought a hand up to stroke his cheek. Under her skin, he shivered. "Forgive me. I'm here to make sure you're alright after that terrible accident," she cooed.

"I…I'm fine," he stammered, trying to draw away. Her hand caught his chin and held it firm. "Regina, I don't think Red would like what you're doing." One of her burgundy nails caressed his bottom lip.

"Red who?"

She batted her eyelids. _I put a spell on you and now you're mine, _she sang inside her head. There were other forms of magic besides the obvious kind in their world. Seduction was one of the most formidable types of magic, one she wielded expertly.

Just then, someone tapped her shoulder.

Regina inclined her head to peer up at a furious Red. In her hands was a tray of food and drinks special for Archie and it rattled. Ah, the dog was coming to mark her territory, hmm? Regina smirked and continued running her fingers along Archie's skin.

"That's _my _cricket you're fondling, Your Majesty," Red coolly exclaimed. She hastily dropped the tray onto the table. Regina's hand was slapped away from Archie's face and he breathed a sigh of relief. "Next full moon, I'll be paying a visit to your house."

Was this pathetic mutt actually threatening her? One of her heels shoved Red backward and she gracefully stood up to face off against her opponent. Red bared her teeth at her, but Regina was unmoved.

"I'd like to see you try," she hissed back.

Red opened her mouth to retort or perhaps bite, but something over Regina's shoulder caught her eye. The red-streaked strands of hair wavered as she shook her head. Why was the wolf grinning like that? _My, what large teeth you have. _

"Hey, Regina, isn't that your beloved tree?" Red pointed behind her shoulder, but Regina failed to follow it. This must be a distraction. There was no conceivable way her precious tree would be—

A thunderous roar made her spin around toward the window. Outside, a car—no, wait, _her _car—rocketed past the diner at high-speed, swaying dangerously across the road. And tied to the back, being dragged down the street, was her chopped apple tree.

As the car flashed by, someone stuck their head out the window.

"_Picking apples is fun!" _The thief yelled on the top of his lungs for all of Storybrooke to hear.

Jefferson.

That no-good-lousy hatter had axed her tree and stolen her car! He'd be lucky to last another week with his heart! And once she ripped it out, she would squeeze it like it was an anger management toy. _Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze…_

"That's my car! That's my tree! Come back here, you lunatic!"

Like a shot, Regina dashed out of the diner in hot pursuit. Smoke may as well have risen from her heels with the speed in which she was striding. It was positively icy outside, but she hardly registered it on her skin as pure hatred fired through her veins.

In the diner's parking lot, Jefferson drove her car in circles. The tires screeched and stank of burning rubber. The tree collided with a few nearby cars as it flew past. How did he even infiltrate her car in the first place? Her heels halted in place. Oh, gods, her window was shattered!

Someone was going to die. Slowly.

"Jefferson! Jefferson, _stop!"_

She cried out, hopelessly waving her hands about and trying to catch up to the car without being flattened like a royal pancake. The hatter ignored her, releasing a high-pitched screech of excitement as he drove past again and again. It was making her dizzy.

Out of breath, she paused in her tracks. Maybe the car would run out of gas, just sputter and die like half the victims she had wasted. And then she would pull Jefferson from behind that wheel, rip his miserable heart out—

Here he came again.

Regina dodged him as he sped for the main street. As he roared away, one of the larger tree branches snagged on her foot and she fell backward onto the thick trunk. All she could do was hold onto the trunk for dear life as she experienced the most extreme sleigh ride of her life.

Through the open window of the driver's seat, she was forced to endure Jefferson's sloppy singing.

"_Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with yo-ou!"_

…..

"And then…and then she went flying down the street on top of the tree! Like some kind of decoration! I swear, you could hear her screams all the way," Red gasped through gales of laughter. Even Gold had to resist the urge to die laughing. Enlisting Jefferson's help was a brilliant move on his part.

"If we're lucky, dearie, she'll be without her voice for a week. All we'll have to deal with are her ferocious glares," he replied. Oh, what a quiet little New Year it should be.

"It's about time someone chopped down that tree," Red praised, throwing her arms to the high heavens. "Serves her right for trying to steal Jim-Jim from me…Oh…my…God…"

Red's jaw dropped in sheer astonishment. Her gaze was trapped on the space beyond Gold's body. Gradually he turned around out of mere curiosity. Very little had surprised him during his lifetime, but this was one of those rare moments that he was struck speechless. In a good way.

A black figure entered the diner and approached them with the sluggishness of a woeful ghost. If this were charades, he'd guess it was supposed to be a wisp of black smoke. The figure stopped beside Gold and only then did he recognize the two miserable ebony eyes burning with malice.

Regina.

Oh, she was almost unrecognizable. Every inch of her—not just the hair, dress, and heels—was covered with dust, dirt, soot, and slush. Her skin was caked with mud, her lips transformed into an unappealing brown shade. Her hair was a hapless mess, sticking up at odd angles.

Gold's body shuddered with quelled laughter. It became harder to hold it in once he realized Red was reacting the same way.

"My, my," he clucked his tongue. He flicked a pebble of dirt off Regina's cheek. It left a dismal stain on his thumb. "Might I suggest a mirror? You have seen better days, Your Majesty." Red snorted into her hand.

"Bath….room," she croaked through her clenched teeth. It was the only thing clean about her, the pearly whiteness of her teeth blinding against the black.

"Uh…I wouldn't use that one if I were you," Red gestured to the diner's bathroom door. "Charming left behind a disgusting mess. Why don't you use our laundry room? There are plenty of extra clothes in there."

Red offered to show Regina the way, though Gold did not miss the clever wink as she hurried past. It was then that he recalled the problem with the laundry room. Oh, that quick little minx. _Well, she can't possibly say there aren't enough pants, _he mused.

"What the…?" He read Regina's tainted lips when the laundry room door opened. Or perhaps it was 'mother' she uttered. Either way, Red thrust the Queen inside and quickly closed the door behind her. A wail of despair erupted from the room, barely audible over the music.

"Long live the Queen," Red declared proudly, raising a glass once she returned. The thrill of it all filled every pore of his body until he found himself lifting a glass of beer to clink against hers. Red tossed her drink back expertly, but he discarded his glass on the bar.

"Do either of you know if Regina returned yet?" Emma's honey-smooth voice rose off to his left. What proper timing. Perhaps she could join them for a celebratory drink.

"She's drowning in Gold's pants," Red offered up first. Their truce was inexplicably over. Emma's nose scrunched in distaste as her green eyes switched to Gold for an explanation. Inevitably, her gaze flickered down, as if she expected to see Regina crouched there.

"That's…not as perverse or suggestive as it sounds," he hurried to cover his tracks. Red simply watched the damage unfold. Loathsome mutt. Say goodbye to the cabin. "Regina and I never….Regina would never get remotely close to touching my…On the list of women that I would allow to have contact with my suit, she doesn't even rank in the Top 50."

He hoped that came out right. Those responses sure sounded better in his head. Emma examined his suit and ever so carefully he edged forward on his seat. _You, however, I'm willing to make an exception for, _he added mentally.

"What number am I?" Oh, he was so hoping she would ask that question. He could rub his palm together in glee. She mustn't be that perturbed if she was asking such intricate questions.

"Would you believe me if I said you were number one?"

He held up a single digit for emphasis. Red eyed them in outright bemusement as they actually flirted with one another. Emma leaned most of her weight on the bar and dipped her head until her breath tickled his skin.

"Yes…yes, I would."

…..

_**Time to thank all those that reviewed my story recently. A big thank-you goes out to DaesGatling, ParanormalMoonlight, helikesitheymikey, FortunesFavour, The Auburn Girl, 666Neme666, AngelofDarkness1605, discotimelord, nuckythompson, DragonRose4, SwanQueen4055, spankingfemfatale, Guest, and Musicalfan2012. You guys are awesome! **_


	6. 11:00

_**A/N: Hello, dearies! I daresay this story is almost done. But not to worry—there's still some New Year's fun before it ends. For one thing, I absolutely adore Jefferson. And I hope everyone else does, too. Enjoy! **_

_**11:00 p.m. **_

Red and Archie were locked in a fierce battle. Well perhaps not an overly violent battle since both of them were stifling fits of giggles. She narrowed her eyes with determination. He raised his eyebrows to challenge her. Their tongues moved in haste, competing for the same goal…

Red slapped her hand on the table before pulling the cherry stem out of her mouth. It was a split second before Archie did the same. He spun his knotted stem between his fingers, but Red yipped with glee.

"Hah! I win," she exclaimed and clapped her hands above her head in victory. Archie congratulated her and flicked his stem into the bowl with the other remains of their countless cherries. She had beaten him two out of three this time. "Guess I just have a talented tongue."

She stuck it out to tease Archie even more. He nearly turned as red as the cherries with her little hints here and there.

"Speaking of winning, what is this bet you have with Mr…uh, Rumpelstiltskin?" She still hadn't told him very much about their bet, if only because she wanted her victory to be a genuine surprise at midnight. That and she might not have followed her conscience as much as she should. "It's just…you've been spending a great deal of time with him tonight. It's unusual for you."

She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. Her lips formed a surprised 'O'.

"Are you jealous of Rumpelstiltskin?" A tell-tale shade of pink climbed up Archie's neck. He tugged at the collar of his vest nervously.

It made her smile to see him so flustered over her. She would have liked to see Archie defend her honor, but Rumpelstiltskin would likely turn him into some mundane object: a pocket-watch or a new pair of shoes.

"Jim-Jim, the day I bat my eyelashes at that imp is the same day I go blind, join a convent, and willingly ship myself off to the pound." He sighed deeply and clasped her hand across the table.

"I know, Hoodsie Cup. I shouldn't be jealous. I trust you," he insisted and squeezed her hand before releasing it. His eyes peered up at her from behind his glasses hopefully. "So…not even a hint of what I can expect at midnight? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious," he persisted.

Red tapped a finger to her chin and considered it thoughtfully. In a way, she had been dropping a few hints here and there, so how bad was it to let him in on the secret? Her sultry eyes shined.

"I suppose I can give you a sneak peek," she teased, biting gently on her bottom lip.

Leaning far over the table, she clenched bunches of his vest in her hands and pulled him into a feisty kiss. The shock of their lips meeting made his body stiffen in his seat. Then he bent forward into her and kissed her back, their mouths warm and soft as they moved together for that brief moment.

When the kiss broke, Red grinned and licked her ruby lips hungrily. Archie settled back in his seat and raked a hand through his red curls. It was a wonder his glasses didn't steam up from his obvious excitement.

"Is it midnight yet?" His voice was unusually rough and breathless. She giggled at his enthusiasm. Uncapping the jar of cherries, she popped one into her mouth. The pit came out along with the stem, twiddling between her delicate fingers.

"Best five out of seven?"

…..

The text came in just as Emma downed her glass of wine and simultaneously offered him a delicious view of her flexed throat. He imagined pressing his lips to the hollow of her throat and having her toss her golden head back just as passionately.

The drink wasn't infiltrated with any strange substances—Red liked Emma too much to pull a low blow such as that. And he supposed it would make girls' night awkward.

Reluctantly, Gold tore his eyes from the blonde Sheriff to see what Jefferson wanted. _So, who's our next victim? Is it Red? Shall I waltz in there and put the moves on her? Or kidnap her?_

There was that silly row of smiley faces with devil horns again. Jefferson must have jumped off the deep end for good this time. He sounded much too eager to break out the drugged tea.

The thought of Jefferson taking Red for the night was intriguing…but it would also mean he'd have to turn his pink house into a fortress during the next full moon.

Quickly, he surveyed the diner. It had been a while since he'd last taken note of the competition and foes in this little game. Emma certainly proved distracting.

He couldn't help but notice Granny and Gepetto dancing together on the edge of the crowd—just a little waltz. Recently, those two had been enjoying each other's company. Long walks to watch the sunset, having lunch together, knitting and crafting each other gifts.

Oh, he shouldn't do that to Granny. It would earn him an arrow through his shop window. But Gepetto he could live with demeaning, especially after what his son had done to him.

He began typing out a message to Jefferson. _Fetch the oversized puppet from the Inn, will you? _Perhaps Gepetto would be so emotional over being reunited with his wooden son that he would forget all about Granny.

A text immediately came back. _Do I look like your errand boy? _Another vibration of his phone a minute later. _Fine. Give me a few minutes. _

Gold chuckled to himself as he imagined Jefferson dragging the wooden man down the street. Weirder things have happened in this town. Casually he lingered at the bar and drank in the most delicious wine he had ever tasted—White Swan. A little sour upon first taste, but oh so sweet on his tongue once he'd acquired it.

He was just stretching his arms and cranking out the stiffness in his shoulders when another text message vibrated on his phone.

"You're popular tonight," Emma observed over the rim of her glass. As long as she remained his biggest fan for the evening, he could care less whether a horde of shippers crowded outside his shop with little suits and canes. Though, it would definitely be worth the appalled look on Regina's face.

"What can I say? I may be a difficult man to love…but there are some who try," he replied smoothly, staring at her intently. He sincerely hoped she was one of those people. All she gave him was a tiny nod in acknowledgement.

Another sharp vibration. Oh, right—the messages. Jefferson held no candle to Emma's allure, no matter how many fantastical worlds he could jump.

This time, Jefferson sounded frantic. _His eyes are blinking! And he's heavy! This is more disturbing than those puppets you keep in your shop!_ The second one read: _I'm leaving him by the dumpster. _

He slid off his stool under the watchful eye of Emma. _I wonder if August the Wooden Wonder would object to making friends with the dumpster rats for a moment or two. August or Emma? Tough choice. _He offered her a reassuring smile.

"Excuse me, dearie," he murmured as he began to depart into the crowd. He could sense Emma's wondering eyes burning into his back. The glass clinked on the bar and he fought the urge to turn around.

"Where are you going?" She called after him, strictly curious.

He waved a hand back to her and debated twice whether he should simply return to the bar and procure her another drink. Somehow, he didn't think the line _I'm using August the Puppet to lure Gepetto away from Granny because I desperately wish to kiss you at midnight _would flatter her.

"To relieve myself. Granny's iced tea gets me every time."

…..

Marco had not been truly happy since his wife passed. Likewise, Gepetto was equally disheartened with the loss of his dear boy, Pinocchio. Burying himself in his woodwork, thinking he would never find him.

But tonight, his soul was light as a feather. Tonight he was dancing with Granny and enjoying her company. For such a busty woman, she proved to be swift on her feet. It had been a while since he'd been able to smile so genuinely.

The dance ended and Gepetto slumped to catch his breath. He wasn't as young as he used to be. His lungs heaved for air and it felt like his heart was going to explode.

"I…I have not moved that fast in years," he gasped, his accent thicker in his breathlessness. Granny handed him a glass of water, which he gratefully gulped down. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Granny hadn't even broken a sweat.

"Neither have I," she agreed. "But, boy, does it feel good or what?" Granny stretched her muscles and gave a satisfying moan. Gepetto had to disagree with her since he was floundering on the verge of a heart attack. "Ready for Round Two?"

Gepetto held up a hand to mutely request a moment.

Thankfully, a commotion started up from the middle of the crowd. It distracted Granny. Just a minute or two and he would be back on his feet. But she was frowning and observing the excitement with unease.

"Somebody's crowd-surfing," she announced. She made it sound like someone had tried to rob the cash register. Then she squinted to view the scene better. "Or something…" He turned his head to find out what she was talking about. He gasped and leapt to his feet, forgetting about his tiredness.

There, floating over a sea of hands was his boy, Pinocchio. It was easy to recognize him—he was the only wooden man in Storybrooke. He was pretty sure Pinocchio wasn't crowd-surfing of his own accord.

"Pinocchio!" He charged boldly into the crowd to retrieve his son.

August was panicking inside his mind. One minute he was lying in his bed in Granny's Inn, the flowery-printed covers nestled comfortably around his stiff form, staring hopelessly at the cracked white ceiling. The next minute, some crazed man broke through the door of his room like a one-man SWAT team, dragged him away, abandoned him by a dumpster, and was found by Rumpelstiltskin who for some odd reason threw him to the crowd like meat to a pack of wolves.

This just wasn't his week.

_Ow, ow! Oh, God, there's hands everywhere! Let me go! Put me down! You're tearing my clothing! Is this insidious torture actually fun for you people? This is like…this is like forcing a coma patient to crowd-surf! If this is some form of physical therapy, I do not like it!_

Gepetto latched onto his arm and pulled him down to the ground. Huffing through his nose, he dragged his boy to a secluded booth and gazed into his crystal blue eyes. They blinked once, making him yelp. Half the dolls in the toy section of Mr. Clark's store didn't do that!

"Pinocchio…can you hear me?" Blink. "Blink twice if you can." Blink, blink. Gepetto's breathing rapidly increased with anxiety. He drew a shaky hand across his bearded chin in distraught. "What is two times two?"

He blinked four times. _Papa, I understand your concern…I'm unnaturally wooden, not mentally incapacitated. _

"Someone must have broken into my Inn. Red found him in one of the rooms just this week," Granny spoke from behind Gepetto. Immediately, he whirled—not in surprise, but in anger.

"You knew where my boy was? And you didn't tell me?" He waved his hands in the air in exasperation.

Granny fiercely planted her hands on her hips and scowled. Uh-oh, there was the crossbow look. August wished he could squeeze his eyes shut, but his eyelids hardly stayed closed that long.

"How was I supposed to know he was yours? That is hardly the little child you had in our world—his hair isn't even red! You also failed to advertise him as the Wooden Wonder back home! Here I thought it was some quirky hobby of his, to have a full-sized wooden doll in his room! Last I heard, they only came in female versions!" She glanced down at the wooden form of August in pity. "You're lucky I had enough firewood for the Inn."

That notion made Gepetto's face drain of color. A cold sweat broke out over his skin and he held his son tightly, as if Granny were planning on extracting him then and there to throw him into the fire.

"I am taking my boy home," he sternly declared.

"No one's stopping you," Granny hollered, motioning her hand to the door. Gepetto hoisted Pinocchio by the arms and dragged him off through the diner's door. Granny sniffed shortly as she watched him depart—this would mean she would have to find a new dancing partner.

Inside, August was wailing. _Ooh, oh, ow….by the time he drags me home, I won't be able to sit for a week!_

….

Fifteen minutes later, Jefferson darted in and out of the shadows of the diner. He slunk around the side of the building, avoiding passing by the front, until he reached the alleyway that branched off of the parking lot. He was sure no one had seen him.

Ah, the parking lot—good times.

For a second, he teetered on his feet uneasily and nearly landed on his face. Phew, that whiskey must have gone to his head. _Wait until the imp catches this evening show, _he chortled inside his mind. Would he be satisfied then? Jefferson doubted it. That selfish imp never knew when to quit.

Luckily, Jefferson was sure he would enjoy the show just as much. He had returned to his house using Regina's car to gather a few items. Just a few props. An actor always needed to be prepared for the spotlight, right?

In his hands he hefted a heavy pot from his own kitchen, which he set down in the snow. From his pocket he drew out a package of firecrackers. They'd been lying around in the kitchen drawer for too long—it was time to put them to good use.

Resting on his haunches, Jefferson emptied the firecrackers into the pot. He took a lighter from his pocket and flicked the flame. It was the only glowing essence in the alleyway, a tiny dancing pillar of fire. Jefferson grinned maniacally as he touched the flame to the firecrackers. _Happy New Year's everyone. _

It was amazing what he learned from Christmas movies.

….

Grumpy's song had just ended when the disruption started. It came out of nowhere and it was ferocious in volume. A tremendous round of popping that sounded like gunfire. Instinctively, every head in the diner ducked. Some people even scurried under the tables for cover.

Emma dutifully pulled her gun while Granny rushed out of the kitchen with her crossbow.

"Where's the idiot rascal? Let me at him," she shouted and fired an arrow straight into the ceiling. Shrieks erupted from the crowd as everyone began to panic. Surprisingly, Grumpy hopped on one of the stools and whistled to gain everyone's attention.

"Everybody just calm down!" Gradually, the roars of the crowd ceased to a confused murmur. "Look at it this way. I figure there are only a handful of people unaccounted for in this diner, ergo out there waving a gun. Let's see…the Queen—"

"Who is still drowning in Gold's pants," Red mumbled somewhere near Gold's ear. He shot her a dark look over his shoulder. Thankfully, Grumpy didn't catch that one or else the rumor mill would be churning rather strongly during the New Year.

"Charming, Snow, Cinderella…" Grumpy ticked the names off on his fingers one by one.

Gold figured someone might have handed Charming a new water gun. And he wanted to be Deputy of this town alongside his daughter. He would certainly feel sorry for Emma when she attempted to train Charming. It'd be the equivalent of training a fish to fly.

"Jefferson," the Sheriff in question added under her breath.

_Bulls-eye, _Gold congratulated her silently. The last time she had seen Jefferson was the night he'd held her and Snow hostage. The hatter definitely wasn't among the people in this diner. Grumpy continued on, unwavered.

"Henry, Henry's girlfriend…and as far as we know, Rumpelstiltskin has not yet mastered the art of cloning himself." That remark earned Grumpy a formidable glare. _Yet, _he vowed. Then again, he wasn't sure how he'd feel about multiple Rumpelstiltskins running amok about town and wearing out his best suits.

"Henry is still asleep, right?" The suspicion came from Ms. Ginger. Simultaneously, the crowd turned to the booth where Henry and Grace snoozed. That kid could sleep through the end of the world. Emma sent a scathing look to Ms. Ginger. "What? Who knows what that boy is capable of with the Queen as his mo—excuse me, adoptive mother?"

"About as capable as you are of keeping your voice down when Pongo chases you up your tree," Gold muttered, loud enough for the aged teacher to hear. It silenced her protests immediately, the color draining from her face. It made her hair look like it was on fire.

Apparently, Emma heard it as well since she offered him a surprised, but grateful look. That one actually hadn't been for her—he had a soft spot for Henry and it would be the day some old hag dragged the boy's name through the mud in front of him.

Emma double-checked her gun and proceeded to push through the crowd to the diner's door.

"Everyone, stay inside. I'll handle this," she professionally demanded. Granny charged through the crowd with her crossbow. People dashed out of her path, lest a stray arrow "accidentally" be released. The way Granny carried herself, she looked like a soldier ready for war.

"As will I," she announced briskly. It was meant to leave no room for arguments, but Emma stumbled back from the door. She held her hand out to command Granny to stop.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. No, you're not. I am the Sheriff and this is my job," she objected. Granny's face hardened in displeasure, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses. That crossbow rose an inch. No one ever challenged Granny when her mind was made up.

"Excuse me, Sheriff. This is my diner, I'm the one with the crossbow, and that fool is getting an arrow where he doesn't want one, so help me God. Besides, you'll need someone to cover you." Add another inch.

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. She studied the crossbow meaningfully. Granny's aim was rather deadly, even after 28 years of misuse. And from her build, Emma wouldn't be surprised if Granny could take on a raging bull.

"Stay close to me," Emma instructed as she opened the diner's door.

A vibration ran up Gold's leg as he watched Emma and Granny slip out into the night. It was his phone; another lousy text message from Jefferson. Shouldn't he be out there causing havoc? Reluctantly, Gold peered down at the screen. _Defend your woman, _it read.

That hatter must be shipping his potential relationship with Emma hard if he was encouraging him to go out there and be Emma's knight in shining armor. The only other woman out there was Granny…he preferred not to ask Jefferson which woman he meant.

Or was Jefferson planning something else entirely?

Curiosity getting the better of him, he sifted through the crowd in the direction of the door. No one tried to argue against his leaving.

…..

"I have to be honest. There's another reason why I volunteered to come out here with you," Granny openly admitted as she and Emma traversed the side of the diner. Emma led in front with her gun while Granny brought up the rear.

"You mean other than the excitement of testing out your crossbow after nearly three decades?" Emma snorted over her shoulder. She peered into as many shadows as she could, but it only got darker the closer they got to the alleyway. _Just what I want to be doing on New Year's Eve, _she mentally moaned.

"That was my initial reason. Back in my day, Old Bessie and I could have been a match for the Huntsman," she boasted. Emma glanced warily at 'Old Bessie.' "My second reason is because I wanted to talk with you privately. To warn you, so to speak."

That revelation startled Emma to the point where she almost halted in progress. Granny collided into her back sharply. It was a good thing she had been pointing Old Bessie more toward the mouth of the alley. Was Granny psychic now? Was she about to spout some warning of a grave danger to Emma?

"If you're going to tell me about the secret ingredient you put in your iced tea, Henry already told me," she flatly tossed back to Granny.

The point of the crossbow lightly prodded Emma's back, instructing her to stop. Reluctantly, she turned to Granny and registered the deadly seriousness on the old woman's face.

"It has nothing to do with my iced tea, girl. And what in blazes is wrong with my special iced tea, anyway?" Granny barked, clearly offended. Emma held up her hands in surrender. _Other than the fact that it's addicting? Absolutely nothing. _"No, I wanted to warn you about Rumpelstiltskin. I've seen the way the two of you have been flirting all night."

Emma spun right around and gave Granny a stern look. Was Granny really implying that she…and Gold…? Were their numerous interactions that foretelling?

"We were _not_ flirting," she protested hotly, her voice a little too high in pitch for her liking.

There had been nothing remotely intimate between them. The only remarkable thing was that kiss…and frisking him in the kitchen…and discovering that he would grant her permission to touch his suit whenever she liked…

"I may be an old woman, but I still notice plenty. I noticed you flirting a mile away. What do you call that kiss, then?"

_An accident, _Emma excused it in her mind. A pool of warmth unfurled in her stomach as she recalled her unexpected kiss with Gold. Thinking back to it, she could still taste him on her lips.

Anything she said would egg Granny on, so she stayed silent. Granny made a small '_hmph_' noise, as though her silence confirmed her suspicion.

"When you play with fire, Sheriff, you're bound to get burned. I've had the discourtesy of knowing Rumpelstiltskin for a good while and I certainly recognize his kind. Vultures, nothing less. That imp is nothing but manipulative and self-serving. An opportunist, mark my words. No matter how aloof he may seem with the townsfolk, the man still has needs."

It made Emma's heart pound painfully inside her chest to picture herself being the woman with which Gold fulfilled his needs. Writhing in his arms, having him whisper in her ear…She didn't know whether to invite the pleasurable feelings stemming from such a risqué vision or to shy away from it.

At the same time, she didn't wholly agree with Granny's claim—she didn't think he might be as much the monster as the town made him out to be.

"Thanks for the advice," she humored Granny as they continued down the alleyway. Granny clapped a hand over Emma's shoulder.

"If you were smart, you'd heed it. Heaven forbid if he were foolish enough to hurt you, Sheriff. If you think an old woman like me is deadly with a weapon, you should see your mother with a bow and arrow."

_Well, I know one thing for sure. There's no way I'd ever bring Gold home to dinner._

…..

Gold found him on the side of the building opposite where the disruption took place.

Emma and Granny would be circling the building in search, but Jefferson looked rather calm as he leaned against the wall, fists buried in his pockets, foot propped up against the building as though about to push off of it. Apart from setting off fireworks, he could be posing for the cover of a magazine.

"Lovely trick with the fireworks," Gold announced as he limped toward the hatter. Jefferson's eyebrows rose toward his hairline.

"You knew it wasn't gunfire. Impressive," Jefferson returned, burying his hands deeper into his pockets. "Everyone else in the diner was scrambling for cover. It was hilarious."

"Unless you raided the station, you don't have a gun to wave about and shoot off, do you? Besides, I'm a fan of _Home Alone _myself during the holidays," he explained. Jefferson nodded musingly. Not that he was going to invite the hatter over for a Christmas sleepover anytime soon. "If you start throwing bricks off a roof, I'll not be responsible for using someone else as a shield."

Jefferson's face grew blank as though he were actually considering it. How hard did the Queen cut off his head? Next he'd be the fool who would try tossing a penny off the Empire State building and imagining it hitting someone far below.

"Fortunately, I have poor aim. I'd probably hit you by complete accident." The man was speaking madness again. He was even chuckling to himself. How in the world did he obtain such odd…dare he say…friends?

Gold listened to the sounds of the night, but he did not hear Emma's footsteps yet. No doubt this was Act II of his little firework stunt. An attempt to make him look heroic for stopping the madman on the loose, perhaps?

"If I'm Emma's knight, you must be the dragon," Gold mused, giving Jefferson the once-over. Jefferson deliberately fingered the cravat at his throat. At least he was a stylish dragon, unlike that wretched Maleficent. Those diamond black horns didn't suit her at all.

"And now comes the fight," Jefferson said, leaping away from the wall. Gold's grip increased on his cane. Judging from the uneasy gait Jefferson had, he'd bet he was drunk. "A staged fight, of course. A little fake show to paint you as a 'hero'." Jefferson air-quoted with his fingers. "But hero might be pushing it. You think we should have you rescue an adorable kitten from a tree?"

Gold ignored Jefferson's ramblings. Gliding forward, he decidedly buried the head of his cane into Jefferson's stomach. The air whooshed out of Jefferson's lungs and he doubled over, moaning in agony. If the wall hadn't been there, he would have lost his footing.

"Do you…always…tune me out?" He gasped for breath. It sounded more reasonable than telling Jefferson to start moaning of his own accord. "This is supposed to be a_ fake_ fight. Emphasis on the fake!"

Jefferson held up a finger as he straightened to full height, indicating he had more to say.

"That was partially for continuously blowing up my phone with those idiotic smiley faces," Gold retorted. Looking at some of Jefferson's more random texts, you'd think he was the happiest man alive. Nothing but a row of smiley faces sticking out their tongues.

"Laughter is the best medicine," Jefferson huffed. He spread his arms out by his sides. "Alright, let's try this again. I'll make it sound realistic. Ready? _Oh, no, not the cane," _Jefferson cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out into the night.

Gold rolled his eyes to the black sky. He didn't think it sounded at all realistic. Must Jefferson be so dramatic? Plus, it was much too fun having a chance to beat up Jefferson. So, he slammed his cane into the hatter's leg to distract him before pinning him against the wall.

Jefferson was groaning against the discomfort. He tried struggling out of Gold's grip, but the imp was stronger than he looked. Footsteps slapped against the pavement from around the building. Emma and Granny.

"He's mine," Granny roared as she jumped out from around the building, wielding the crossbow.

Jefferson's eyes boggled at the deadly weapon as Emma and Granny raced toward them. Gold pressed his arm to Jefferson's throat, holding him firmly against the wall.

"I seem to have stumbled into a trespasser, Emma," Gold called out over his shoulder. Those brown eyes glinted dangerously at Jefferson. The imp was enjoying this scenario way too much for his own good. Jefferson squirmed in his grasp, gasping for air.

"Never mind. I think….I like you better as the villain," Jefferson choked out.

Without warning, Jefferson's knee soared upwards and hit Gold where it hurt most. His grip loosened on Jefferson as he crumpled toward the wall. In a flash, Jefferson revealed a pair of silver scissors and slashed Gold across the chest, tearing through his dress shirt. It wasn't a terribly deep cut, but it did draw a line of blood.

Gold fumbled for Jefferson's coat, but the hatter skittered away. Emma was nearly on them and ordering Granny not to shoot when Jefferson swiftly loomed close to Gold's ear.

"You'll thank me for that later," he hissed.

Gold grabbed up a fistful of Jefferson's coat, but Jefferson scrambled out of it and dashed off just as Emma's feet pounded beside Gold. He watched as Emma picked up speed in pursuit of Jefferson. With a cry of frustration, she chucked the gun square at his head before tackling him into the bushes.

Emma dragged Jefferson to his feet and slapped handcuffs on his wrists, though Jefferson did not seem as displeased as he should be. Perhaps he was thinking there were worse things in life than being stuck in a jail cell in the station with Emma.

Currently, he was spitting out a leaf.

"You're lucky this time! I had you in my crosshairs," Granny bellowed from where she stood beside Gold. He was just starting to see past the stars and smooth down his suit. Blood seeped through his shirt, staining it. And this was one of his favorite shirts!

Granny lowered her crossbow and started for the corner of the building, the excitement of the chase fading away. Her foot must have caught on something, for she tumbled forward. In a quick swoop, a net captured her body and pulled her up into the air, the rope attached to the flag waving above.

It was Jefferson's old trick that he often used around his mansion—it was partly why Gold never visited the house on the hill. Jefferson would only be too amused to attempt this trick with him.

Emma's mouth dropped open as she observed Granny struggling against the cords of the net. Jefferson had the gall to burst out laughing. He would have bent over at the waist, but Emma was holding him too tightly. And Granny was like a cat that had just been doused in water.

"You maniac! You let me down this instant or I'll have your head!"

Jefferson tried to staunch the gales of laughter, but was failing miserably. For once, Gold didn't feel the need to put much stock in Granny. _You're a little late on that threat, dearie. _

…..

"Not as cozy as your mansion, but I'm sure you'll get used to it," Emma mercilessly spouted as she tucked Jefferson away into his new temporary home. He hadn't put up much of a fight on the way over to the station, though he did complain about the music in the car being too loud. In which case, Emma turned it up louder, just to annoy him.

"Thank you…Princess," he replied in his smug way. It was his form of _I-told-you-so_ concerning this curse.

She slammed the cell door and he gave her a miserable pout, which she ignored. She turned around to face Gold, who had accompanied her over to the station. Her excuse was that she did not want to be stuck in a car with Jefferson alone. Yes, that was all.

"Never thought I'd thank you for locking someone up or using that cane of yours for something other than walking," Emma quipped. Gold shrugged modestly, but she didn't miss the gloating smile on his elaborately curved lips.

"Oh, my hero," Jefferson mockingly chirped from behind the bars.

Both of them turned to glare at the hatter, not amused by his antics as of late. He simply played off an innocent air, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. It must be the New Year's drinks numbing his senses.

Heat warmed the apples of Emma's cheeks. That cute sentiment hadn't exactly been what she was going for. She wasn't about to cuddle up with Gold and allow him to carry her off into the sunset. But the fact that he helped her catch Jefferson was hard to ignore.

"You're wounded," she pointed out, gesturing to his blood-stained shirt. He peeled back the fabric to reveal the edge of the cut that ran across his chest. A few beads of blood glistened in the dim light of the station.

"I've dealt with far worse," he muttered, releasing the silky fabric. Jefferson scoffed from where he leaned against the gray wall of his cell.

"Never has there been a truer statement," he surmised, tapping a finger against his chin. "Remember that time in Frankenstein's world when you decided it was a brilliant idea to open that coffin and nearly got the blood sucked out of you? Or in that Chinese land where you set off a firework on top of that mountain and caused an avalanche? Or—"

Gold pointed his finger threateningly at Jefferson. The rules stated he could not use magic tonight, but he was willing to break them once in a while. It hardly deterred Jefferson—the words practically demanded out behind his lips.

If Emma was surprised to know that he and Jefferson were…acquaintances, she didn't show it. Oh, he was so off his friend list.

"Why not use magic to heal it? Rumor has it you're good with that sort of thing," she said, waving her hand toward his cut. _Among other things, of course, _she couldn't resist adding in her mind. It made her blush worse. She hoped he didn't notice.

"Is it warm in here, Sheriff? You're quite flushed," he lilted, his teeth flashing with a knowing grin. Yeah, he noticed. Jefferson snickered, earning another sinister glare from her. "In any case, after showing off my magic to you, I made a deal with Little Red. Turns out I'm to refrain from using magic for the rest of the night."

Maybe it was her imagination, but she thought she saw his eyes flicker to Jefferson. It must have been a trick of the light because ever since she first met Gold, his eyes never seemed to stray from her. The intensity of his attention was almost overwhelming, what with the way he devoured her, undressed her, glimpsed through to her soul even.

She shook the thought from her head and motioned to her office door.

"We should get that cleaned up," she announced over her shoulder and expected him to follow.

Gold lingered behind for a moment, watching as she retreated to her office. He felt eyes on his back and turned to see Jefferson grinning like that elusive Cheshire cat in Wonderland.

"Thank you, Jefferson," the hatter hinted in a sing-song voice. He flounced onto the rickety thin mattress in his cell and happily propped his feet up on the rails. He was already making himself at home.

Emma would have her hands full yet.

…..

He stepped over the threshold of her office, which was really no bigger than a closet. He found her doubled over beside her desk, sifting through a cluttered drawer. At least her office had a nice view.

She tossed a roll of gauze, a cloth, a brown bottle of alcohol, and a box of Band-Aids on the desk. The Band-Aids had pictures of the Power-Puff Girls plastered all over them. He wondered how often Graham had used them. _I'll endure the wound, _he decided.

Emma straightened up and slammed the drawer closed. She glanced awkwardly at him, studying his ruined shirt. She cleared her throat.

"Close the door. I'd rather not listen to Jefferson any more than I have to," she grumbled. Something told him she wouldn't be offering the hatter half her sandwich. _Yes, Princess, _he thought as he gently closed the door and moved into the center of the room.

Should he take a seat on her desk? After all, he was the patient and she was his doctor tonight. But Emma blocked his path to the desk as she pored over the items. She motioned absently to his shirt and he could tell she was trying to avoid his gaze.

"Now….uhm…you'll have to…take off your shirt. So I can see the cut," she hastily blurted. Ah, no wonder she was being so tricky. A small smirk threatened to slide over his face.

He enjoyed seeing her squirm outside her comfort zone. That pink hue was lovely on her cheeks. Not to mention the magnificent fire glowing in her green eyes. An emerald blaze that a man like him could only dream of stoking. During the rare times he dreamed, anyway.

"So eager," he taunted. Ooh, how that fire roared.

He took his time shrugging off his suit jacket and hanging it on the coatrack beside her office door. So….homey, wasn't it? He undid his tie and slipped it off, placing it comfortably on the corner of her desk. It allowed him to reach around her body, invade her personal bubble all the more.

All the while he never took his eyes from her and she—caught in a wary trance—was helpless to break contact.

Deliberately slow, he popped the buttons of his dress shirt one by one. Her sharp focus was directed to his fingers as they started at the very bottom and worked their way upwards, occasionally pausing so that she may admire the canvas. The shirt parted and she held up a hand to signal him to stop before it joined the tie.

"I just need to see the…cut. I don't need an entire…show," she insisted hesitantly, even though her eyes roved over his clothed arms. _Are you sure, dearie? Front row seats—going once, twice…_

Inevitably, her gaze slid to the bare skin of his chest. It was marred only by the gash along the middle. He was not overly muscular, but he was not in bad physical shape, either. He had a surprisingly strong build for someone who played the cripple card more often than not to cut the line in the ice cream shop.

"Ready when you are…Nurse Swan," he shattered her reverie. She realized that she'd been foolishly staring. _Focus, Emma, _she chided herself. _It's only Gold. _Except for the fact that the man apparently had a gift for getting inside her head.

_Focus…_She exhaled a thin breath and grabbed up the bottle of alcohol. Taking the sterile white cloth in hand, she poured the alcohol over it and examined Gold's wound. Her fingers dared to brush across its edges experimentally and he winced.

"This is probably going to sting like a bitch," she warned him, the alcohol-damp cloth hovering above his cut. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. She didn't know what he had to be smug about, other than the fact that she was in the presence of Gold in his half-naked glory.

"What's pleasure without a little pa—_heeee_," he hissed once she pressed the cloth to his cut. He tried to pull away, but she gripped his shoulder to keep him in place. He was like a fidgety child with the way he retreated. With the hiss coming from his mouth, she half-expected his hair to rise on end like an angry kitten's.

"I told you it would hurt. You didn't listen," she berated. He looked ready to protest, but he chose to bite his tongue. If he was expecting a lollipop, he would be sorely disappointed.

For a few tense moments, the two of them remained silent—Emma working on cleaning out his cut and Gold leering intensely down at her without any sign of relenting. At least he wasn't hissing anymore, though his nose kept scrunching every time the cloth brushed against his skin.

Noticing his unease, she dabbed at the cut gently.

"You're very good at this," he complimented after a while. She shrugged loosely while the last of the dried blood seeped into the cloth.

"I learned the basics when I was ten and…more or less taking care of myself," she explained. "As the story goes, I never had a mother who could kiss and patch up the boo-boos whenever I fell off the swing." The resentment was crystal clear in her voice; he willed it away.

With time, her brow gradually relaxed, as did her touch. He savored the feel of her fingertips when they followed after the cloth over his skin. Emma seemed mesmerized by his battle wound, as he so liked to think of it. Or maybe it came from such unabashed exposure.

The cloth paused in its movement. Emma laid it on the desk and used a piece of gauze to dry his skin of excess blood and alcohol. And then she did something even more miraculous: she lowered her walls completely.

It was as though she were under a magical spell meant to attract her to him, a moth to a flame. Emma's sunshine-golden head bent forward carefully until her lips teased the skin just above his cut. He inclined his head back, his eyelids fluttering closed in absolute bliss. He had the urge to bring his hand to her neck to hold her there, to weave his fingers through her hair, but knew it would only break her little spell.

On cue, Emma inhaled sharply and drew her head away.

"Sorry. I…I don't know why I did that," she murmured, purposely averting her gaze from him. He reached out a hand to stroke her cheek—it was deliciously warm to the touch. Instead of pulling away, she turned her head and in the process allowed more of her cheek to lean into his palm.

The spell had been cast again.

His fingers slipped down to her neck as he urged her closer to his body. She drifted airily, as though stuck in a mystifying dream. No matter where his fingers landed, their eyes never broke apart. His arms circled her waist to hold her and she tilted her head back to allow him further access. His head descended, his mouth seeking out hers. This time, the kiss would not be an accident. So close, he could nearly feel her breath on his lips…

"I know what you're _do-oing _in there," Jefferson abruptly called out from his holding cell beyond the door. His voice was slurred in a drunken song. "Between you and me, I doubt those walls are _soundproof!"_

He hoped the hatter rotted in that jail cell. _It's official—he's shipping me with Granny. He must have been sending those texts to Emma by mistake. _

Emma stumbled away from his body, the spell broken. She finished taping up the gauze over his cut so that it would not get infected and then proceeded to shove the items back into the messy drawer of her desk. Reluctantly, he gathered up his belongings and buttoned up his shirt. _Thank you, Jefferson, _he groaned mentally.

"Perhaps…it's time we head back to the diner," he solemnly suggested. Emma's lips pinched in a bothered frown. "Unless of course you wish to have a late night tea party with our dear friend."

He hooked his thumb over his shoulder as Jefferson started a chorus that announced to the world that he and Emma were sitting in a tree. Emma blanched at the mention of spending any amount of time with Jefferson, even if she was the Sheriff.

"We'll bring him back a doughnut. Maybe," she said, passing through the door after he so courteously opened it for her. His eyes flew to the clock on the wall—it was just over a half hour to midnight. Jefferson's sloppy singing followed their backs all the way out of the station.

_Rumpel and Emma, sitting in a tree…K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Rumpel with a baby carriage! _

…_.._

_**Just a little tease there. (-; The next chapter might be the last one. Who will win the bet? Will Emma and Gold share that first New Year's kiss? Or will someone steal it right from underneath Gold's expensive shoes? You'll have to wait and see! **_

_**So many people to thank for such kind reviews! Here's to DaesGatling, discotimelord, QueenTakhsis, Huntress4455, helikesitheymikey, AngelofDarkness1605, sundancemc, FortunesFavour, Musicalfan2012, Guest, mydirt09, a. , SwanQueen4055, DragonRose4, The Auburn Girl, la-stella-immortale, and ValueMyHeart. **_

_**Quick (important) question: Many of you have requested that I do a Valentine's Day Golden Swan fic in the vein of these holiday fics I have been doing. I'm all for it, but…there may be some awkwardness with the oh-so-inevitable plot coming up in OUAT (*cough Bae cough*). My question is: would you guys still want me to do this Golden Swan Valentine's fic in the event that the Bae rumor is true (for those of you that know what I mean)? I just want to know what you, the readers, think about it. **_


	7. Midnight

_**A/N: Alright, so I know I said that this might be the last chapter. Fortunately for you, it is not! I'm planning an epilogue right now that will tie up all loose ends. For now, the clock is ticking down on midnight. Who will win? **_

It was a half hour until midnight. And Gold could not find his cane.

It wasn't like he misplaced it—his mind wasn't a feeble, absent one like Charming's. Never had he succumbed to forgetfulness. He had placed it on the bar as he usually did. His only mistake was that he placed all his focus on Emma. She had been asking him dozens of questions about their world in comparison to how the brothers Grimm wrote it.

"So, where the hell did the Fairy Godmother come from? In this story, Cinderella got her dress from a tree," Emma pointed out. She grimaced as she reached the end of the story. Ironically, the tale of Cinderella was one of the more gruesome ones.

"In our world, Cinderella's fairy godmother experienced some….digestive issues that night. Her stomach exploded," he explained with a small smile. _Along with the rest of her, _he thought. He nearly fell out of a tree with laughter after the good fairy burst into little golden sparkles. "Believe it or not, I took her place."

Emma leaned back in her seat to examine his full figure. She looked slightly perturbed.

"_You _were Cinderella's fairy godmother?" A tiny string of euphoria threatened to slip from her lips.

He frowned and wondered if she was imagining him chanting something idiotic like _Bibbity Bobbity Boo. _Who in their right mind would go around spouting nonsense like that? How ever could you be taken seriously? People got tossed into wells for much less.

"I'll have you know that I did a fabulous job in filling in as Cinderella's godmother. That whole glass slipper detail was my doing in the first place. And I suppose you'll berate me for waving a wand, too. Well, this suspicious character Harry Potter waves a wand about and no one mocks him, do they?"

Emma stifled her humor as she flipped the page. Even though the joke was in his expense, he did like the way she smiled when she genuinely laughed. She should do it more often.

"Next you'll tell me that you're Ursula the evil sea-witch," she chuckled.

Just because he ventured down into the sea to fetch that special ink did not make him any similar to an evil octopus. Come to think of it, he had nearly drowned the first time because he couldn't breathe properly and had to give himself a pair of gills. According to Jefferson, his limbs could have been useful for propellers with the way they had flopped in the water. He even offered him swimming lessons in a "kiddie pool."

The arrogant madman.

When he turned back around, the cane was gone. Vanished into thin air. His hand even touched the bare place it had been as though it may be invisible.

"Emma…have you seen my cane?" She glanced up at him from her stool, her brow furrowing.

"Yes, Gold. You've tried to introduce me to your cane multiple times since we've met. How many times do I have to tell you: I'm not going to stand outside your shop and be a spokesperson for your cane?" She thought he was flirting again. Oh, he wished he was only flirting. This time it was a serious matter.

"No, I meant…have you _seen _my cane? It's not here." He insistently palmed the surface of the bar. He scanned the floor, though he knew it wouldn't have rolled off without his notice. It just wasn't here.

"Maybe it got tired of your company and rolled away to find an attractive broomstick to mingle with," she quipped. This was hardly a joke; he could barely walk fifty feet without his leg locking up. He checked under his stool, on the floor again, over the bar.

What, did someone just walk off with it?

"Did you leave it at the station? You were kind of preoccupied, remember?" He didn't need a reminder of their heated moment in her office. He had replayed it countless times in his head since then. Emma was clearly trying to help, but her pointless questions were getting him nowhere fast.

Leaping from his stool, he began to turn in circles as he searched the crowded floor for a stray cane.

"No, I had it here with me. In the car, I used it to drum along with that catchy old fellow, what's-his-name," he protested. Emma sighed. In truth, he had never really learned the name of that singer and he was curious to know, what with his taste for names. Maybe he could buy one of those CD's and play some of it in his shop.

"Phil Collins?" Gold snapped his fingers, proving her guess correct. She knew one thing for certain: Gold wouldn't make it as a drummer anytime soon. "Why don't I just go around and ask people if they've seen your cane?"

She slid off her stool and humored his loss by doing just that. The first ones she started with were the dwarves. For all he knew, they could be playing Monkey in the Middle with it. In which case, there would be several wild monkeys running about town tonight that deserved a cage in the animal shelter.

"Don't make it sound intimate," he called out to her back. The last thing he wanted was for it to seem as though he were trying to round up adoring fans for his cane. Only a few people were allowed to touch it.

It had to be here somewhere. No one would be foolish enough to take it unless they wished to require surgery to remove it later on. No one would dare. _Oh, my precious, where are you? That is my special cane—I even had my initials engraved on it. _

For the hundredth time, he searched along the length of the bar. And he inevitably spotted Red leaning her hip against one of the stools nearby. She casually admired her colorful nails, not paying the least bit of attention to him. Just minding her own business, was she? He sincerely doubted it.

With the flick of a switch in his mind, he knew.

"You," he hissed through furiously clenched teeth. Of course he had done incredible things tonight to ensure his chances for winning this little game. But taking his cane—and effectively limiting his resources and mobility—was crossing the line. Red looked up and innocently pointed a finger at her chest. _Who, me? _"Don't insult my intelligence. Where is it?"

Red's face was perfectly blank. He wondered how long she had practiced such a thing in the mirror.

"Where is what? Your conscience? Sorry, Jiminy's off duty," she taunted recklessly. He simply knew she was enjoying this. His fingers curled into his palms to show his displeasure. As he drew nearer, Red took a careful step backward until her bottom nudged the next stool.

"Where is what?" He placed his fingers under his chin and mimicked her in a sickly sweet imitation. It seemed to unnerve her a bit, which only made him more confident. "My cane," he growled.

Red craned her neck away from his face, but he merely reached out to grasp her chin. He forced her to look at him straight-on. There was no way she was getting out of this one.

"Oh, your cane," she played along, sounding out the word with extra emphasis. His fingers tightened over her chin. From the flash of alarm in her eyes, he could tell she was growing wary about what he might do. As well she should. "Haven't seen it. Who's the last person you impaled on it?"

His leer was deathly cold, showing no mercy as it roved her face. Her resolute mask was cracking into shards. He knew she had taken it; the only question was where she hid it. It couldn't be too far away, with the minimal time it must have been gone. He was sure his hand had touched it while talking to Emma about Cinderella's godmother.

"You have a lot of nerve to take my cane, dearie," he muttered. She scrunched her nose and made a show of waving her hand in front of her face. Now she was poking fun at his breath? Her boyfriend's had been considerably worse, hence the terrible use of huffing and puffing. She whipped her head from his hand and stumbled away.

"What's the matter? You can dish it, but you can't take it? You play these pranks on people all night and when I have the gall to do it, you get angry? Or is it because you're afraid you won't be able to follow Emma around like a puppy dog?" She was lucky to have thought about putting the rule of no magic on the list. "I think Granny might know where your cane is."

Before he could open his mouth to interrogate her on that subject, there came a monstrous growl that was far beyond any he had made before. It was the ferocious roar of the Man-Eating Granny. Hardly anyone had ever slayed it before.

"_Rumpelstiltskin!" _He was almost afraid to turn around, especially when Red glanced at something over his shoulder. Pounding footsteps erupted toward him as Granny burst through the crowd. Perhaps they should have left her in the net. "Does this belong to you?"

In her hand was the missing cane. She could poke an eye out with that thing if she didn't quit waving it over her head. He would have preferred to pass the blame over to someone else, but he was the only one who owned a cane in this town. Licking his lips uncertainly, he extended his hand for it. Granny thrust it painfully into his chest.

"It was tied to a string. The string was taped to my back! I had your miserable cane skating behind me for five minutes before Emma alerted me to it. If this is your way of inferring the pleasures of your cane, this old woman is not interested," she barked. Any minute now he expected her gray hair to curl like Medusa's snakes. "And just for that stunt, I think I'll charge you extra on the hot fudge sundaes, too."

Oh, no. Not the sundaes. Those were his guilty pleasure. The tacky ice cream parlor across from his shop just didn't make it like Granny did. For one thing, they didn't know the value of extra chocolate sauce. He clutched at his cane in dismay.

"If I were to charm you with the pleasures of my cane, woman, I wouldn't have been content with tying it to a string. I assure you….you would be weak at the knees for days," he dared to retort.

Everyone in the crowd made soft gasps at his bravado, but Granny wasn't impressed. Wringing her hand back, she landed a sharp slap across his jaw. The impact made him stumble back like he'd been hit with a cannonball and he toppled into Red's arms. He wished it had been Emma's. But then she was also giving him a dark look.

Was it a bad thing that he was seeing stars spinning in front of his eyes?

"You're lucky it's New Year's Eve. Otherwise, I would be more than happy to ban you from this diner," Granny screeched before whirling on her heel. Slowly, the crowd returned to their previous activities, if only to avoid being threatened to be turned into snails by a raging magician. Gold unsteadily regained his composure and rubbed his aching jaw.

Red bit down on her lip to hide the quirk of her victorious grin.

"Cheer up. Granny only slaps men she really likes," Red teased.

First she took his cane. Then she caused him to have a bitter confrontation with Granny, which earned him a brutal slap and a reduction of hot fudge sundaes in his future. He narrowed his eyes at the sultry waitress as she sought out Archie.

She may have won this battle…but she would lose the war.

….

It was fortune in itself that Archie's office was located almost directly across the street from the diner. Even more fascinating, it was ridiculously easy to gain access inside the office. This town could use improved security considering the fact that all he used was a credit card. He kept his plan firmly in mind as the door swung inward.

This was strictly business now—the time for playing games was over. If Red wanted to play dirty, then so be it. He was rather skilled in that field himself.

The office was dim, with only the moonlight washing over the floorboards from the window. The peaceful chirping of crickets rose from the open tank on the ledge, the room smelled suspiciously of Febreeze, and the trash was obnoxiously overflowing with tissues. Pongo lifted his head from his bed in the corner and cocked an ear.

"Come here, boy," Gold knelt on one knee and called out to the Dalmatian using his "friendly" voice.

In a shot, the dog bounded forward and eagerly accepted the doggie treat that he pulled out of his suit pocket. He always carried one in case he passed Archie walking Pongo on the street. It was purely for insurance; someday he might need to use Pongo for his benefit.

That day was today. If it wasn't for the pleasure of vanilla wafers, Gold might think Pongo actually liked him. He obviously didn't consider Gold an immediate threat if he was content with lapping up that cookie instead.

Rising to his feet, he checked around and found Pongo's leash on Archie's desk. Out of curiosity, his eyes scanned the rest of the desk for anything of interest. It would be so much fun to sift through the patient files and read about all the reasons for people attending therapy—most of them probably attending due to stress over rent-but there was no time.

Clipping Pongo's leash to his collar, he waited until the dog was finished licking up the stray crumbs on his bed before urging the dog to the door. It was impossible to move him otherwise—dogs could be so stubborn when it was most inconvenient. Pongo sniffed Gold's pocket, silently begging for another. He would get one at the diner, if he was good.

"We're going for a little stroll."

…

It took him no more than ten minutes to get ahold of Pongo and lead him to the diner. It would have been less than that if Pongo hadn't kept sticking his black nose into Gold's pocket every five seconds. The dog did it slowly each time—he was starting to think Pongo was working on sneaking it out of his pocket.

"Oh, have it, then," Gold relented fitfully. The dog seemed rather pleased with himself. Honestly, what was Archie teaching this thing?

Outside the diner, Gold carefully edged the door open with his cane. Thankfully, the too-loud karaoke music overrode the chime of the bell and no one noticed. At the edge of the crowd stood Miss Ginger, her mouth arranged in a sour pout as the dwarves tried to get a round of the Macarena going.

She never did like Pongo much.

The dog in question must have caught her scent since he instantly set his sights on her. He tried to move forward, but Gold held his leash fast. This was going to be fun. This would certainly take Archie's attention away from Red indefinitely. And with merely fifteen minutes or so until midnight, she might miss out on that kiss.

"Go get her, boy," Gold murmured softly to the dog.

In one swift motion, he unclipped the dog's leash, freeing him. Pongo was off, bounding into the diner like a rocket and charging straight for his old friend, Miss Ginger. It took a moment for everyone to realize there was a dog loose in the diner and even longer for Miss Ginger to spot Pongo racing toward her.

A blood-curdling scream erupted through the diner as Pongo crashed through the crowd, aiming for the old bat. She scrambled up onto a stool in an attempt to get away from him, but the dog simply lunged up with her. Pongo landed squarely on Miss Ginger's stomach and held her down as he bombarded her face with his hot breath.

Gold figured she had a secret admirer.

"Someone _help me! _Do I look like a _Scooby Snack?" _Pongo offered Miss Ginger a generous lick to the face, as though testing out that theory.

Grumpy stepped forward with his arms outstretched. Gold readily anticipated himself for Act Two of this little play. If only he had some popcorn in his pocket.

"I've got him, sister," Grumpy announced and rushed at Pongo.

He tried to grab him, but Pongo ducked around the dwarf. He jumped up on the bar and proceeded to dash across it, knocking glasses and bowls to the floor. Gold didn't know which was funnier—the dog using the bar as a runway, or Grumpy chasing right behind him and breaking all the goods that Pongo miraculously missed.

"Someone control that dog," Granny shouted over the laughing crowd as Pongo remained free of Grumpy's grasp. _Which one? _

The crowd split apart to reveal a frantic Archie. Whatever he and Red were doing together must have been incredibly rough as his clothing was a bit disheveled.

"Pongo, down!"

Immediately, Pongo caught the sound of Archie's command and leaped off the bar. For added measure, he sat himself obediently in the center of the diner. Miss Ginger scurried as far away from him as she could. Archie hurried to Pongo and latched onto his collar.

"How did you get out of my office?"

Gold dumped Pongo's leash into the trash and quietly slipped among the crowd, becoming invisible to Archie's speculation. He was tempted to whistle innocently, but feared that might not be quite so subtle.

Archie shook his head in exasperation and guided Pongo to the door, apologizing sincerely to both Miss Ginger and Granny as he passed.

"Archie, wait. Please, don't go. It's almost midnight," Red hastily followed behind him and caught his hand. Her eyes pleaded insistently with him. Remorse clouded behind Archie's glasses and he loosened his hand from Red's.

"Red, I'm sorry. I have to bring Pongo back to my office and make sure the door is locked this time. He can't stay here," he explained. Red's shoulders slumped with disappointment. As a last minute thought, Archie brought his hand to Red's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "I'll try to be back before midnight," he promised. Gold easily read the doubt spiraling across Red's face.

Then Archie was gone, the tiny bell dismissing him from the diner with Pongo in tow. The party gradually kicked back into rhythm after the unexpected sideshow, but Red stared forlornly at the diner's door as she struggled to understand what just happened. That was the look of one with a broken heart, indeed.

As she turned away, she noticed Gold watching her. Never had he earned such a scalding glare from anyone in Storybrooke, including the Queen. That black expression declared retaliation; it vowed that Red would get her revenge for such a petty trick. He audibly scoffed and showed her his back.

_You have no cards left in your deck, dearie. Revenge? I'd love to see you try. _

His confidence restored, he ventured off to the kitchen to freshen up for Emma.

…..

For possibly the thousandth time, Red glanced up at the diner door. Each time, she was sorely disappointed to see that it was still and held no sign of Archie. She strained her ears just in case there might be the soft ringing of the bell.

She had crashed from the highest point of certain victory to the lows of defeat. How could she win if Archie wasn't here to kiss her at midnight? Cinderella had more chance than she did.

Fuming, she slipped out the list of rules for the game and read them over. Stupid rules. Stupid game.

Competitive as her wolf-form was, Red had never been good at losing. Something inside her was tempted to rip this list to shreds if only to take out her anger. But a tiny thought in the back of her mind stopped her fingers before curling around the paper.

Once more, she read the list to confirm her newfound realization. The thirst for revenge against Gold for taking Archie away fueled stronger than ever through her veins. A cunning smile curved her lips and the beginnings of a plan unfurled in her mind. This would give him a little taste of his medicine.

Red stuffed the list away and spotted Emma further along the bar. The Sheriff had her blonde head bent low over that volume of fairy tales Gold had given her, though Gold himself was not currently flocking around her like a bothersome fly. The allure of fairy tales must have been working their charm now that she had become a believer.

Gold probably assumed she had no cards to play anymore, what with Archie leaving the diner. But Red had a secret ace inside her sleeve.

"Hey, Emma," she called out as she swept to the Sheriff's side.

Emma tentatively glanced up from her book and Red saw how disconcerted she was. She was most likely torn over everything that had happened tonight between her and Gold. It almost stopped Red in her tracks…but she couldn't feel bad for Emma now. Revenge was a temptation too great to resist.

"I don't need any more drinks, Red," Emma instantly blurted. Red rested her elbows on the bar and forced a concerned expression. It immediately put Emma on her guard.

"Oh, I'm not here for drinks. There's something I think you should know…about Gold."

…..

_11:45…11:50…11:55…_

Red checked the luminous clock above the bar every five minutes, it seemed. The hands ticked by, slimming the minutes to midnight quicker than she could grasp. Time was about as easy to manipulate as black smoke.

It felt like the tiled floor would be pulled up from under her feet any second; where she previously mourned for losing this game to Gold, she now lamented about not spending that wonderful New Year's moment with Archie.

Who else would she spend it with? Granny? Snow, who had to escort Charming home for his stomach troubles?

It left her lonely and depressed. How miserable was it to spend New Year's alone? She solemnly buried her head in her hand and absently traced a crack in the bar with her fingernail. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the diner's door swing open, but she had no mind to care. Chances were: it wasn't Archie.

"Phew…just made it," someone gasped with relief from a foot or so away.

Red'a head snapped up in disbelief. There stood Archie, grinning warmly down at her with his cheeks chafed from the cold. Only the bar separated the two of them. As Red gaped at him—_he was here!_—Archie kindly reached over and clasped her hand. It was ice cold, but she didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that it belonged to Archie.

"I told you I'd be back before midnight."

Red could barely contain the excitement raging inside her chest. A silly smile floundered over her face and she was practically bouncing on her toes. It exploded in one extreme gulf of ecstatic relief.

"_Jim-Jim!"_

Before he could make a move, Red crawled up and over the bar, tackling him to the ground. Their bodies landed in a heap, but she was too preoccupied with securing a gigantic kiss on his lips. She straddled him as it broke apart and he gazed up at her through his crookedly placed glasses.

"You really know what you're doing," he commented, breathing heavily from the pressure of her kiss. Red giggled and helped him to his feet. She had no idea where that came from. Just for emphasis, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. "You really missed me, huh?"

Red beamed up at him, her chin bobbing on his chest.

"You have no idea."

Over his shoulder, she caught Gold's infuriated look as they embraced. This time, the childish instinct was too much of an opportunity to bypass and she stuck her tongue out at him. He sneered and pretended to be distracted by something else. _You won't get rid of me so easily, old man. _

Suddenly, the karaoke music stopped and Grumpy directed everyone's attention from the head of the crowd. He was playing with the volume dial on the television. Red's eyes switched to the clock on the wall.

It was 11:59.

…

The countdown was starting.

On the hazy television screen, the ball was dropping in Times Square. Anticipation buzzed about the crowd in the diner to the point where Gold could barely hear the thoughts in his head. Ten seconds left until another year descended on their town, ten seconds that he could not afford to waste.

_Ten…_

He spun toward Emma and latched onto her wrist. Before she could react, he pulled her against his body. She stared up at him with wild green eyes as he focused on her lips. They were parted ever so slightly.

_Nine…_

"Gold, what are you doing?"

She placed a hand on his arm and tried to break away. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist, but….No. The kiss had to be willing between both parties—it was one of the rules. He was many things, but he was not one who disregarded the rules of a contract….anymore.

Regrettably, he loosened his hold and offered her some room, though not enough to let her disappear from his grasp. Even so, her muscles visibly relaxed. In some part of his mind, he reasoned that she was simply startled by his abrupt invasion of her personal space, but he still could not help but feel paranoid that his chances were slimming.

_Eight…._

Under her wary gaze, he lifted her chin with a finger. She could have easily shifted her head away from his touch, but she kept looking straight on into his brown eyes.

"Why, I'm collecting on that kiss, Emma," he made it sound as if it were the most obvious truth in the world. He knew she was so close to wanting it. And perhaps she secretly did, deep down. Midnight would tell.

_Seven…_

"I only promised you that kiss if you behaved, remember? If you earned it." She squirmed in his arms.

"Compared to everything I'm capable of, _dearie, _I'm behaving myself. Now, how about that kiss?"

He inclined his head forward and it felt like Emma's wasn't even breathing while she rested against him. But she wasn't pulling away, either. It would have filled him with hope…if Archie weren't getting down on one knee in front of Red.

_Six…_

In his hands was a small velvet black box. Only Charming would be clueless as to what was inside.

The crowd formed a circle around the couple, most open-mouthed in awe. The sight of it sent Gold's blood boiling in his veins. The reason he made that deal with Archie about handling their wedding plans was because it would be a deal he wouldn't have to stress about—the idea of those two marrying was ridiculous!

But that sneaky little cricket was _planning _to _propose? _

And Red was gaping with excitement, gushing as she eyed that little black box. This could not be happening.

_Five…_

"Red, I know we've only been together for a short while, but…I've never been happier in my life than I am with you. Will you marry me?"

A murmur of _aww's_ rose from the crowd as Archie flipped open the lid to review a sparkling diamond. The cricket had to have saved up every cent in his pocket for that! And judging from the immense happiness flowering on Red's face, her answer was obvious.

_Four…_

"Yes. Yes, of course I'll marry you," she exclaimed in joy. Gold's insides caved as a round of applause broke out. "But Archie, just wait a few seconds—"

Oh, hell no. There was no way Red was winning this game, engaged or not. He wanted that kiss from Emma and he was going to get it. Red and Archie could kiss all they wanted on their wedding night.

So Gold did the only logical thing he could think of. He lifted his cane in the air and it connected with Archie's hand, which had just successfully pulled the ring out of the black box. Archie gave a cry of pain as his hand made a sickening cracking noise. The ring flew through the air…and landed in a bowl of guacamole.

Emma and Red whirled on him with intense, raging eyes.

_"Gold!" _

_Three…_

"My cane slipped," he calmly excused himself. Not one of them looked like they believed him. Archie dove for the guacamole bowl and scrabbled inside for the ring. He ignored his oddly positioned hand, his wrist likely broken.

It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. A really thick, goopy, green haystack.

Emma gripped his arms, forcing him to look at her.

"This is behaving?" He gazed down at her intently, wondering if he had just lost any chance of getting that kiss. Red was shooting daggers at him with her eyes. And Archie….Archie was scanning the guacamole bowl as if prepared to do a cannonball into it.

_Two…_

Archie took in a deep breath and rubbed his palms together.

"I'm going in," he announced.

Before anyone could object, he stuck his head in the guacamole. Red screeched in protest. Gold no longer cared. All he could think about was the last few seconds of this old year and how he desperately wanted to kiss Emma.

But how could he when she was studying him with so much misunderstanding?

"Emma, please….You have no idea how much I want this. Don't you?" He caressed her cheek and breathed a sigh of relief when her head fell into his palm. She still wanted it. He guided her gently into his embrace and she tilted her head back to expose her throat. "You're lying if you tell me you don't feel it. I know you do. So, please…let me…"

He brought his lips down…

_One…_

And caught her cheek. She had shifted her head away at the last second. He peered through her blonde hair at the way she sternly refused his kiss. He grasped her chin and turned her face in his direction, silently demanding answers. _Why would you do this to me now? _

"You said…" He started to accuse her, but she shook her head.

"I said I would kiss you at midnight. I didn't specifically say it was going to be this night," she stated firmly. Cold realization spiraled down his back. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Dipping her head forward, her mouth came to rest near his ear. "You're not the only one who can play games, Gold."

Archie's head shot up from the guacamole bowl, his whole face covered in thick sludge. His hand shot up from his side and clutched in it was the ring.

"I found it!"

But it was too late. It was too late for any of them—him, Emma, Red, Archie…the game was over. None of them had earned their kiss.

The cheers from the background slowly came to life as the people of Storybrooke welcomed in a new year. Horns went off, bottles of champagne were popped, Granny howled from the middle of the crowd.

"Looks like someone got their kiss," Emma commented, glancing over his shoulder.

Every nerve in his body froze as he spun around and feasted his eyes on one couple close-by that were happily devoting themselves to a grand New Year's kiss. Grumpy and Nova. Damn it—he had forgotten about the dwarf and the fairy.

Luck was not on his side tonight. And he didn't even have the pleasure of being drunk.

…

Gold downed his third alcoholic drink in a row when Red sought him out. She couldn't stop swooning over the ring on her finger. If only they could place her on a street corner—he had a feeling she would unknowingly make an interesting traffic director with the way she kept posing her hand this way and that.

"Guess the game's over," she remarked, though she did not sound as sullen as she should be. All she cared about was that bloody ring. Its glister mocked him. "But look at the bright side—I'll be marrying Archie and have a fabulous wedding and you'll be Grumpy's servant for an evening. "

He failed to detect the good news in that statement, especially since the fairy would be accompanying Grumpy. Nothing was worse than having to serve a fairy. Perhaps he would poison her soup. Gods, he needed painkillers for this migraine.

"I don't know why you're so smug, Little Red," he taunted. Her elation dimmed slightly. "Both of us lost. According to that list of rules, anyone who has lost will have to play servant. Correct?"

Red dug out the list of rules from her blouse and pored over her own handwriting within the last few lines. It was a spectacular gift of his, being able to unfurl the loopholes in a contract. Her cheeks flushed pink as she realized she had fallen into her own makeshift trap. With this alcohol bubbling in his system, he was inches from giggling.

"But…but….I…." Words obviously eluded her. He devoured her instability with a wide grin. It did not rid him of the burden that came with losing this game, but it was nice to know he wouldn't be the only one suffering. "When I wrote that up, I never meant—"

He held up a hand to silence her complaints.

"Intent is meaningless. You had it in your pretty little mind that you would win and so did not account for the possibility that someone else might steal your golden moment. You and I both lost this game. Now you and I must obey the circumstances. My only consolation is that you will likely be more miserable than I will."

Red pouted her lips and flung the set of rules on the counter. He quickly snatched it up and stuffed it neatly into his suit; for insurance, should Red decide to try and get out of her agreement. As her eyes roamed the emptying diner, a bright strobe of realization dawned over her face.

Why did she look so pleased again? She was supposed to be rocking side to side in her own pool of tears by now.

"Actually, Grumpy will have _three_ servants," she proclaimed.

He watched curiously as she strode to the laundry room's door and wrenched it open. An avalanche of black suit pants spilled out, with Regina buried among them. Dizzily, the Queen stood only to wobble on her ankles. She was stumbling around worse than any drunk.

Ah, he knew that look well: she would be traumatized and would have to resort to intense therapy.

During all the years he'd known her, he had never seen her look so….panicky. Her arms flailed as though she were still swimming through a room of pants. Her nose twitched with the invasive scent of cologne.

"I will….never….wear pants again," she gasped. Perhaps he would suggest to Granny to ship those pants straight to Madame Mayor's doorstep.

…

_**Dun, dun, dun! I've actually been planning for those two to win for a while now. Only because it would lead to so much more amusement. I'm kind of selfish that way. **_

_**And so many of you have voted for a Valentine's Day Golden Swan fic so you shall have one! I'm currently storming up ideas for it. Anything you would wish to see? I'm not sure it will be strictly based around Valentine's Day, but it will have loads of Golden Swan goodness nonetheless. I'm glad everyone approves. **_

_**A wonderful thank-you must go out to all those readers that have reviewed this story recently: DaesGatling, Huntress4455, Johnathon Greye, discotimelord, SakuraBlossom58, isara-love, Deathbringer88, DragonRose4, BundyShoes, Emperor's Sister, The Auburn Girl, Musicalfan2012, EchoMs, la-stella-immortale, and SwanQueen4055. **_


	8. Epilogue

_**A/N: Well, here it is. The epilogue to my New Year's story. It was originally going to be a lot shorter, but the inspiration was there. I hope you all enjoy it and I thank you all for reading it in the first place! **_

_If ever there was a time in my 300 years that I had the urge to drive my own dagger through my heart, this would be it,_ Gold miserably mused as he and Red impatiently awaited the arrival of their guests. The only thing that made him feel better was the sour scowl on Red's face. For the umpteenth time, she checked the clock.

"It's one minute later than the last time you checked it," he grumbled. "Spoiler alert: next time you check it, that'll be another minute gone."

Red crossed her arms unhappily and leaned against the bar. The diner was empty except the two of them even though it was only seven at night. Granny was shipping Grumpy and Nova, apparently.

"Are they flying across the moon or something? And where the hell is Regina? She was supposed to be here ten minutes ago." Red would know; she had turned her head to that clock ten times.

Though, he was beginning to wonder the same thing. It was common knowledge nowadays that the Queen was lousy at keeping her promises. Only Jefferson seemed to still get fooled. But there was no way she was skipping out on her servant duties. If he had to suffer through this, then so would she.

Flicking his wrist, a suffocating cloud of violet smoke swirled in the middle of the diner. The blinds slapped against the windows as the wind whooshed around with the rage of a tornado. When the cloud dissipated, it left something behind.

Regina.

Clothed in a fuzzy black bathrobe, her butt sticking out awkwardly as if she were still sitting in an invisible chair, with her ebony hair restrained in rollers. A small brush smoothed across her finger as she painted her nails a blood red shade. Her legs wobbled in the air and she toppled backward onto the floor.

"Lucky we didn't catch her in the shower," Gold muttered dryly over his shoulder to Red. The werewolf gaped open-mouthed at Regina, who was slipping bare-footed across the tiles.

"Wha…wha…?" The Queen stuttered unintelligibly. Her eyes wildly roved the diner from floor to ceiling. _I don't think she's in Kansas anymore, _Gold thought euphorically. Regina's head whipped this way and that. Then she spotted Gold and Red. Immediately, her face contorted in anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Making sure you haven't forgotten the moody dwarf's big night, of course," Gold crooned. He made a disapproving _tsk-tsk_ noise as he eyed her revealing attire. "I doubt he'll appreciate you wearing that." Another flick of the wrist transformed her bathrobe into a shabby maid's outfit. That was better.

Regina tried to claw the uniform off her body, but it didn't tear, wrinkle, or budge. It wouldn't until she fulfilled her servant duties. Gold brushed his palm over the lapels of his impeccable suit, just to mock her even greater.

"You bastard," she spat venomously.

She raised her finger threateningly and he instinctively mirrored her actions in defense. Their fingers were pointed like loaded guns at each other, each one waiting for the other to pull the trigger. Red stepped between them and urged their weapons down.

"Now, children, let's play nicely," she chided in a falsely sweet tone. Mary Margaret made it sound so easy. Gold shot her a detested look. She was lucky if he didn't turn on her next. This was not her battle. A terrible sneer clung to Regina's lip, her breathing growing heavy as she seethed.

"Why are you accusing me, you flea-ridden mutt? He started it," she protested, jerking her finger toward Gold's chest. Gold bristled behind Red and he opened his mouth to shoot back a retort. _Nuh-uh! _

"I don't care which one started it. I am ending it," Red declared boldly, holding her palms directly in front of their faces. She tried to use her body to shield them from each other's view, but they simply craned their necks around her in an effort to see.

"But, he—"

"But, she—"

Red insistently held up her palms.

"Enough. Don't make me put you two in the corners," she threatened.

Gold reared his head back in outright astonishment. The last time he had been sentenced to a time-out was that time he had visited Mary Margaret's kindergarten class for her rent and had ended up stealing animal crackers. It was only because the children had gotten paint on his suit first! Those munchkins did it on purpose, he just knew it.

"As long as my corner is far from his," Regina retorted, planting her hands sternly on her hips in defiance. She glared at Gold over Red's intrusive shoulder. "Three-legged gimp."

Gold's fingers tightened over the head of his cane.

"If we're going to start calling each other names…the Wicked Witch demands her broomstick back, _Dorothy." _Red kneaded her forehead anxiously. It had to come to this. Once they started going, there would be no stopping it. Regina gawked like a fish out of water before knitting her brows together in irritation.

"I'll return the broomstick...as soon as you quit trying to steal her ruby slippers," she snapped. _Here we go, _Red cursed numerous times inside her head, whistling out a low breath of air. Five year olds were more mature than these two.

"Why does everyone say that?" Gold growled, his muscles coiling. "At least I'm not terrified of flying monkeys. And you wonder why Archie calls you up countless times to schedule a therapy appointment. Henry has nothing to do with it!"

All of a sudden, it became an impossible feat for Red to restrain the two toddlers. Regina shoved Red forward against Gold's chest for a chance to get in close to her enemy. At this rate, she was going to be turned into a sandwich. With their opposing forces limiting the space between them, there was no way out.

"You leave my son out of this," Regina screeched. Was it Red's imagination or was her hair fizzling? "The Cowardly Lion looks like the gargoyle from _Night on Bald Mountain _compared to you!"

_Can't breathe…tight spaces…drowning…_Red struggled to separate herself from Regina and Gold, but they didn't seem to even notice her anymore.

"Want to see a horse of another color, dearie? Take a look in the mirror." This had to stop.

Red's patience thinned out, though her urge to run was climbing by the minute. Sticking her fingers in her mouth, she whistled sharply. She didn't even know she could do that. But it caught their attention. Gold and Regina both peered down at her and stepped away to offer her space.

"That's it—in the corner," she exclaimed. She pointed each of them toward separate corners. The corners were across the room from each other, so there would be no complaints. Neither one made a move.

"Why should I be punished when she—"

"He was the one who—"

"_Corner!" _Red stomped her foot on the floor and pointed. Her abrupt command must have convinced them; it took a great deal of gall to order either one of them around.

Exchanging spiteful looks, Gold and Regina sidled off to their respective spots. Red instructed them to face the wall and place their palms up against it, if only to squash any rude gestures. She also forcibly claimed Gold's cane—for all she knew, he was planning on spinning around when her back was turned and chucking it at Regina.

After a few tense seconds, Gold dared to glance over his shoulder to see Regina checking her nails.

"Excuse me, but why is the Queen exempt from putting her hands on the wall?" Regina scrunched her nose in distaste and flexed her nails all the more.

"Perhaps because this maid's outfit doesn't allow me to properly _breathe! _I can barely lift my hands above my head!" She stretched her arms up and winced just to prove her claims. Gold figured she was simply acting. "And why are you looking in my corner? You're supposed to be facing the wall!"

Red blew a wisp of hair out of her face. It was sweltering in this diner. Granny must have been playing with the thermostat again.

"No one looks at no one! Alright? Wall!" Grumbling, Gold set his head forward and studied a chip in the wallpaper. His anger got the best of him then and he punched it. "Temper tantrums will get you nowhere."

He thought he heard a cold chuckle come from Regina's corner. He punched the wall again, envisioning her face in place of the crack.

"You want to see a temper tantrum?" He huffed between punches. "Try using the Queen's apples as dodge balls." He smirked once he sensed Regina's brutally bitter stare. _I win, _he gleefully thought.

Two minutes later, the diner's bell chimed. Gold and Regina wrenched their heads around to see Grumpy and Nova blocking the doorway. Red reluctantly released them from their time-out. She had enjoyed playing commander, but now she was about to be down-graded to their level.

"I thought you three were supposed to be our servants. What does a guy have to do to get someone to hold the door for me and my date?"

Nova started to excuse it, but Grumpy gestured to the door expectantly. He purposely stepped outside so that it swung closed. Cupping his hands around his forehead, he peered into the diner at them.

Red glanced pointedly between Regina and Gold. There was their first order; it was all a matter of which one would perform it. Regina tapped her sensible shoes on the floor. Gold drummed his fingers over the head of his cane. Nobody seemed to draw a breath, much less move to open the door for Grumpy.

She had a sickly feeling this was payback for the time-out.

Huffing, she strode to the door and dutifully held it open for their guests. The dwarf paused right on the threshold and gazed flatly at her. Was he waiting for something else? The way he stared at her, he expected her to be able to read minds on top of her other wolf senses.

"What now? You want me to give you a welcoming smiley-face sticker?" Grumpy arched his eyebrows in amusement. This would certainly be a story for the bar. If anything, Granny would want the full details.

"A smiley face sticker would be nice. But aren't you going to offer to take our coats? What kind of greeter are you?" Red narrowed her eyes in annoyance. _I'm not going to like you tonight, am I?_

"Would you like me to take your coats?" Red droned in an emotionless voice. Nova gladly discarded hers and Red hung it on the coatrack beside the door. Grumpy grinned deviously and shrugged.

"Nah, I'm good. It's drafty in here." Red's fingers curled into fists and she fleetingly imagined hanging Grumpy on the coatrack for the rest of the evening. He was being obnoxious on purpose! Why, the little…

"Manners, Red," Gold berated in a sing-song fashion. "Wouldn't want to be put in the corner for a time-out."

Red sniffed and escorted the couple to their special table. If Grumpy wasn't happy with the bottle of wine, expensive tablecloth, and lit candles, then she couldn't promise not to tear into him.

_You just wait, Gold. Your turn's coming up. Let's see how good your manners are. _

…

It soared downhill after a measly five minutes. Not for Grumpy and Nova, of course—no, they were enjoying each other's company and being fitfully romantic. But his servants were equally wishing for a giant to invade Storybrooke just for an excuse to be anywhere but in that diner.

It seemed Grumpy never ran out of requests.

"Red, fix the tablecloth. It's crooked."

"Regina, fetch us a nice bottle of wine. I don't like this kind. Okay, now test it out."

"Gold, put on some romantic music. You know, to set the mood. There's nothing on the radio? Well, then you'd better sing it yourself, sister." Gold refused that awful demand, in which case he launched into an argument with Grumpy about his servant duties. "If you're not going to sing, the least you can do is massage Nova's feet."

Gold seemed ready to plunge off a cliff. He wondered if the fall would kill him or if his curse would prevent it.

"You want these babies to touch her feet?" He wiggled his digits over the surface of the table. "I hope your twoo wuv enjoys blisters." Nova nervously tucked her feet under her seat. Gold inclined his head. "What can I say? I'm too hot to handle, _dearie."_

Regina pretended to stick a finger down her throat. Hearing Gold place himself on a pedestal was ten times worse than the gushy romance stirring between Grumpy and Nova. Hell, it was more repulsive than the thought of the two idiots smooching in the street.

After their three-course meal—cooked by Red herself—Grumpy and Nova slid out of their booth. The dwarf mentioned something about a walk in the moonlight, even though it was starting to hail outside. Grumpy found an umbrella by the coatrack and tossed it to Regina.

"Here, use it to cover our heads," he ordered. The umbrella trembled in Regina's grasp as her fury bubbled dangerously. For once, she was in complete agreement with Red and Gold about wanting to dig Grumpy an early grave. Perhaps it could be a bonding moment for them, all equipped with shovels.

Irises burning like two searing coals, she forced a smile.

"I have a better idea. I think I'll stick this umbrella somewhere the sun never shines," she flared back, the smile crumbling. She strode forward waving the umbrella. It took restraint from both Gold and Red to keep her from carrying out that dirty deed. The bull was seething tonight and Grumpy was foolishly waving the red flag.

Gold glanced at Red over Regina's dark head.

"Just for the record, I am never making a bet with you again."

"Agreed."

….

It was the second day after the New Year and already his bell was ringing.

He supposed he shouldn't complain. The shop had been expectantly quiet all day. Either people were naturally avoiding his shop like the plague or they were still paying the price for celebrating too much on New Year's Eve. _Time to go back to work, _he thought sorely as he limped through the black curtain separating his back room from the front section of his shop.

He stopped almost instantly in his tracks. The last person he expected to see….was Archie.

"Need me to sign your cast?" The thing was already scrawled ten times over with signatures in colorful Sharpie. A dozen red hearts peppered the remaining spaces around the names; Red's, probably. Archie glanced up from the miserable puppets sitting on his display case.

"You can if you want to. Though, I'm not sure Red left much room." He offered his broken wrist up. Gold did not make a move toward it. The cricket coughed in the way people often did when they grew uncomfortable. "No, I'm here to ask you….if you'd like to…participate in the wedding?"

Gold stared disbelievingly at the cricket.

"You're asking me to….what, be your best man after I succeeded in breaking your wrist? How noble of you."

Why, his mailbox was bursting with hate mail from Red. But Archie didn't seem perturbed by the injury. Was a conscience incarnate not allowed to harbor vengeful thoughts?

"Well, Gepetto's my best man, but one of Red's bridesmaids still needs a man to accompany her down the aisle," he explained. A reassuring smile clung to his lips. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt that your cane slipped." Both knew that wasn't so, yet Archie was passing it off so easily. It befuddled Gold to no end.

In other words, Archie was secretly sympathetic for his lack of a New Year's fairytale and wished to pair him up with one of Red's bridesmaids at the wedding? With his luck, it would be Cinderella. The girl would probably faint and die right there at the end of the aisle.

"Who is the lucky maid?" He approached the counter and brushed a hand across an old stack of books, pretending to be uninterested in Archie's wedding dilemma. Archie stuffed his one free hand in his pocket and hesitated for a minute. It was Cinderella, wasn't it?

"It's Emma."

Two words that made every cell of his being grow numb. He wondered if he had heard that right or if he had mistaken Ella's name for Emma. Slowly, he drew his eyes away from the stack of books and met Archie's bespectacled ones. They were bright with wisdom and approval.

It was Emma.

Oh, gods, what would he wear?

"She needs…a partner?" Even he could not dismiss the hope in his voice. The smug arrogance of the all-knowing small-town pawnbroker was shed, leaving a trembling unsure child in its place. Archie ever so carefully dipped his head.

"Snow already has Charming, of course. Cinderella has Prince Thomas. Between you and me, Mr. Gold, I don't think Emma would settle for anyone else." There was too much knowledge embedded in his mannerisms. How much had the cricket noticed that night? "So, you'll come to the wedding?"

Completely dazed, Gold could only nod his acceptance. Archie released the details of the wedding to him. Then all that was left was to wish him a good day as he moved toward the door, his only good hand reaching for the knob.

"Archie?" The bell chimed, but the door paused halfway open. The cricket glanced back curiously at Gold, probably startled that he actually used the man's first name. This would be hard to get out, but it was crawling up his throat, anyway. "I…I just wanted to say…I didn't necessarily mean to…do that."

He meekly gestured to the cast encasing Archie's wrist. Archie studied Gold with deep understanding and awe. Honestly, he looked quite….proud. It was making Gold self-conscious, with the way Archie's eyeballs nearly boggled out of their sockets. It was like he never saw a man apologize before. Or, rather, he'd never witnessed _Gold _apologize before.

"You're saying sorry?"

Gold instantly dropped his gaze to the dust-ridden counter. He really needed to get the rag out again. He could understand if Archie did not accept his apology, just turned and walked out of his shop without a single care. The floorboards creaked as Archie abandoned the doorway. "That's very good of you, Mr. Gold. It takes a lot of courage to own up to mistakes. I forgive you."

Gold's head snapped up, if only to check if the cricket was serious. Then again, why would he lie about something as pure as facing the truth and admitting to mistakes past?

"Well, then….I'd say my conscience is clear," he sighed with relief, feeling oddly light-headed. _For the most part, anyway, _he added in his mind. He would probably have to attend a month's worth of sessions to apologize fully for every trick he had played on New Year's Eve.

Archie raked a hand through the mass of ginger curls that formed his hair.

"Do you think a hug is too much to ask?" How much progress was the doctor expecting him to make? He hadn't even made any pathetic New Year's resolutions about doing good for the community or exercising more often that people just did not abide by.

Archie blinked hopefully at him, waiting to see what he would do. Gold was suddenly glad there was a counter separating him from the cricket. Who knew what kinds of hijinks that man was capable of after New Year's? Hugging the town's most feared resident in a show of goodwill couldn't be too far down his to-do list.

"Just because I apologize to you does not mean I am ready to sit on your black couch and pour out all my inner feelings. People would think I've gone soft," he readily declined with a blunt wave of his hand. A hug—what a ridiculous idea. Yet Archie seemed to be waiting for total confirmation. "A hug is a big ask."

Archie's shoulders drooped with disappointment. He had doubtlessly been making plans to mold Gold into the next Prince Charming. He wished Archie would leave his shop so that he could prepare for the wedding. The tune was already humming through his head.

"That's unfortunate…because if you did, there's a good chance I would have saved you the biggest piece of wedding cake." Gold scrutinized Archie in blatant shock. Was the cricket actually negotiating with him? For a piece of cake?

Oh, but it would be nice to have the biggest piece. Even more enjoyable would be eating it in front of Red. Devouring the frosted roses, mocking her with every lick of icing, watching as she grew jealous over not being given every pleasure of her wedding.

All it took was one little hug.

Sighing, Gold circled the display case with the speed of a dying turtle. He gave Archie a critical once-over. _I cannot believe I am doing this, _he moaned inside his head. Archie was most likely thinking the same thing, except he would be mentally jumping with glee. _Better get this over with before I change my mind. _

Stepping closer, he awkwardly wrapped his arms around the man and embraced his torso. Archie eagerly returned the hug, even heartily patting Gold on the back with his one good arm. Gold could barely breathe with the way Archie constricted him tightly despite the broken wrist.

"See? This isn't so bad, is it? Makes you feel all warm inside," Archie blabbered away in his ear. That was enough.

Gold impatiently shoved Archie away and took the time to delicately brush off his suit. For all he knew, he would smell like cricket for the rest of the day. Better break out the cologne. Archie teetered unsteadily on his feet, but still the foolish smile stuck to his lips.

"If you tell anyone about this," Gold threateningly pointed a finger at that hideous sweater vest, "you'll be making your new home in a box on my windowsill. And I'll have carelessly forgotten to punch holes into the top so you can breathe." Archie had the sense to gulp nervously and edge toward the door.

"Of course not. It'll be strictly between you and me. Doctor-patient confidentiality," he agreed. "Should I tell Emma you've agreed to be in the wedding?"

Gold opened an ancient leather-bound volume and thumbed through its yellowing pages. It was one of those times he wished he kept a journal handy—his excitement bounced back with incredible force that could not possibly be contained. _Dear Diary, this is the best day of my existence. Me, Emma…walking down the aisle…sigh. _

"No, don't tell her," he decided. "Emma loves surprises."

….

Emma hated surprises.

It was almost time for the ceremony to start, but there was one guy missing. Red had agreed to have bridesmaids, but opted away from a maid of honor insisting that she didn't need someone chasing after her gown. Snow was coupled with Charming, Ella had her prince, and who did she have?

She didn't even know who it was—Archie and Red never told her. _With my luck, it will be Leroy. Or Whale. Or…_

A hollow tapping of a cane interrupted her nervous pacing. Her pulse sprung into overdrive as the answer hit her like a ton of bricks. It knocked the air from her lungs, made her heart hammer against the skin of her throat. How ironic. _That's _why they never told her.

"Waiting for me, dearie?" At least he was dressed up elegantly as usual.

Of course he just had to be smug about accompanying her down the aisle, though. His brown eyes leisurely drank in the sight of her in her simple red dress. He exhaled sharply as if someone punched him in the gut. She glanced down at the soft ruffles pooling around her legs and wondered what he truly saw.

"My, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? You'll have no trouble outshining the bride, Emma, if I do say so myself."

Before Emma's mind could fully contemplate the compliment, Gold claimed her hand and brought it to his lips. The sudden warmth on the back of her hand did funny things to her insides. Her eyelids began to flutter closed peacefully as his mouth moved over each knuckle of her hand-

"Hey," a demanding voice intercepted. Annoyance flashed through Gold's face as he reluctantly lowered her hand. She rolled her eyes as the footsteps quickened. _And here comes my dad, ready to try and scare off Gold. Try being the operative word. _

Prince Charming really did take this new parenting job a little too seriously. Between his overprotectiveness and Snow's potential for stringing a bow in the face of danger, she debated which one she'd fear more when taking a guy like Gold home.

"No one is allowed to stroll up and kiss my daughter," the prince roared valiantly. Gold bristled sharply as Charming guided Emma backward by the shoulders. Emma immediately shrugged him off. Was this how it felt to have your parents embarrass you in public?

"Correction: I didn't kiss your daughter. I kissed your daughter's_ hand_. If I were to kiss your daughter properly, I assure you the cataclysmic fireworks would be hard to miss."

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Either Gold was simply that self-assured with his kissing abilities or he was deliberately placing himself on a pedestal to mock her father even more. Charming looked to Snow for assistance, but she busied herself with talking to Cinderella.

"I don't even want you kissing her hand! As a matter of fact, I'd prefer it if you refrained from even looking at anything that belongs to my daughter," he declared. Gold pressed a hand over his heart and dramatically gasped. It made Emma want to choke out a giggle.

"Well, it's going to be hard not to look at her when I am accompanying her gracefully down the aisle. The only way to prevent that, _dearie, _is to blindfold me." Charming exchanged a startled glance with Emma. She could read the accusation on his face plainly: _He's your partner?_

"Let me guess: Archie didn't tell you, either?" The blank puzzlement on her father's face confirmed her suspicions. That cricket had a lot of explaining to do.

On cue, the announcement came that the ceremony was about to begin. It only made Charming even more flustered.

"Well…I…just keep your eyes above her neck," Charming relented as Snow dragged him into position toward the head of the line. Something told Emma that Gold might not keep that promise.

"Ready?" Gold extended his hand to Emma, palm-up.

She took in a deep breath and laid her hand in his. It was surprisingly gentle as he clasped her hand. Immediately, he hooked his arm through hers and reeled her in close to his side. They might as well have been a couple about to take an evening walk together.

Then, the church doors opened to allow them entry, the line proceeding forward two by two. Emma's feet felt heavy as lead; she had never done this kind of thing before. Whenever she imagined walking down the aisle, she pictured herself tripping clumsily halfway there.

Cinderella and her prince swept into the church ahead of them and suddenly it was their turn.

Gold's arm squeezed her body tighter against his as they began the journey down the aisle. In equal strides they moved together, confident and graceful in each other's presence. The silky material of Gold's suit brushed the bare skin of her arm. Heads turned to scrutinize the two of them—most of the faces were appalled at the identity of her partner.

Gold didn't seem to mind the uneasy attention. She could sense his eyes roaming over her body admiringly, starting with the blonde crown of her head and descending lower and lower, memorizing every curve and line that completed her image. She couldn't help but give a small smile that she knew he could interpret.

After what seemed like an eternity, they managed to reach the front of the church. This was where they would inevitably part ways. Reluctantly, Gold's arm unfurled, his hand slipping across the length of her arm until it grasped her hand. It was the last thread hanging between them.

He squeezed her hand gently before ultimately releasing it. Her fingers curled over the empty air where the warmth of his hand once was.

People were still watching for her reaction when Red finally made her way down the aisle, clad in a simple white gown that spiraled to the floor with Granny escorting her down the aisle. Emma found it difficult to keep her mind on the ceremony, even while Pongo dashed up the aisle with the rings attached to his collar.

All throughout the wedding, the only thing she could do was flex her hand time and again, the sensation of Gold's kiss never leaving her skin.

….

This was hands-down the best moment of Red's life.

It beat those false memories of elated freedom upon buying her first car at sixteen and driving wildly around the streets of Storybrooke without Granny shouting in her ear to slow down. It was ten times more exhilarating than running at full-speed through the forest in wolf form with the wind swaying through her fur.

This felt good.

At the same time, her knees felt weak and unable to hold her up. Her gown felt an inch too tight around her middle, squeezing the air from her lungs. No matter how hard she ran, her heart never drummed this loud. She was vaguely aware of her hand trembling until Granny patted it reassuringly.

"Relax, girl. You stay out all night under the full moon and yet you're spooked to be walking down the aisle to your future husband?" Red's pink lips pursed anxiously.

It was one of those conversations they never really had. Surely, Archie must have gone to Granny and asked for her hand in marriage, but up until now Red had no idea how Granny felt about her marrying Archie. The only sound was the whisper of Red's gown and the intense rush of blood in her ears.

"I'm proud of you," Granny whispered from the corner of her mouth. Red's head swiveled in her direction. Had she heard that wrong? But as Granny met her eyes unwaveringly, Red could see the gleam of happiness through her glasses. "Thought I should make that clear….before I give you away."

Tears welled up in Red's eyes and she flung her arms around Granny before she could gather her senses. If anyone else did it, the crossbow would be out in the blink of an eye. She could never thank Granny enough for everything she had done after her mother left. She had raised her, protected her, loved her in her own way.

Granny rubbed Red's back soothingly and returned the hug. Then she straightened up as it became time to walk down the aisle.

Red had no idea how she instructed her feet to move more than an inch, but soon she was gliding down the aisle with Archie waiting at the end. Even with his cast, he still looked handsome. It made her smile wider with every step.

All of a sudden, she decided that she was truly happy. She didn't care that they were stuck in Storybrooke; she didn't even care that Gold was here to observe this glorious day. Though, she always thought he would've been struck down by lightning in a church.

And once she was standing alongside Archie and listening to him making his vows, she could hardly breathe for the joy she felt. It simply seemed right to be here with him, vowing "I do." She only hoped that wherever Peter was beyond their world that he would've been happy for her today.

"You may now kiss the bride," the final line came ever so quickly.

Delicately, Archie maneuvered with the cast and closed the space between their bodies. His free hand caressed her cheek before he lowered his head. His lips softly captured hers in one pure kiss that made her soul light as air. The applause of the crowd was lost on her mind as she savored the taste of him, a small snippet to the days yet to come.

It wasn't demanding, but it wasn't without emotion, either. It was perfect.

Red was smiling when the kiss broke and all she could hear was Archie murmuring "I love you" over and over as his lips nestled into her ebony hair. Or perhaps those words were falling from her own mouth.

She couldn't wait until their honeymoon in the cabin in the woods.

…..

She came to him one night not long after New Year's. He had been waiting ever since the stroke of the New Year—always anticipating it, always impatient for that night. It was maddening, wondering if he would have to wait throughout the entire year, never knowing, only guessing which night would be the one.

It was a wonder he was still awake when the knock came at the door.

He had just been in the process of closing his eyelids when he heard it; a firm rapping from downstairs. He lay staring at the ceiling, testing out whether it was a dream. Maybe he should pinch himself.

He had a couple of those strange dreams during the past few nights about Emma's upcoming kiss. There was one where he had kissed her at midnight in the back of his shop. Another featured him arriving home to find the Sheriff in his bed, pink in the cheeks, and begging for it. Each time he would wake up alone and in massive agony.

Another knock sounded at the door. He supposed he couldn't know whether this was real until he answered it. If only it were raining tonight. He had one of those dreams, too.

Grabbing his cane, he made his way downstairs through the darkness. He had quickly draped a robe over his black silk pajamas, but still the evening chill pervaded his skin. It reminded him how underdressed he was for the occasion. He even checked his breath and debated popping a mint in his mouth, just in case.

A third knock erupted through the house, terribly impatient. He tugged open the door.

And there she stood, casually dressed in her leather jacket and jeans as always. The tips of her boots were crusted with white frost and her ears were slightly red from the cold. She surveyed his attire with a small smile.

"You really know how to dress for the occasion," she commented in good humor. He let her look all she wanted. Somewhat inspired, he decided to pose for her with his cane set in the space between his legs, his body looming forward invitingly.

"Emma," he greeted pleasurably. "What can I do for you?"

Both of them knew very well the reason for her presence on his porch, but it would only fuel his fire to hear her say it aloud. She pocketed her pale hands and shrugged. As she tilted her head, a couple of stray snowflakes drifted down from the blonde strands. If only he could catch them on his tongue.

"Are you suggesting you no longer want that kiss?"

Ooh, so she knew how to play the teasing game. If she didn't, then he would have gotten that kiss on New Year's and she wouldn't be standing on his porch tonight. The taunt did its job well—it lured him into her. Reaching out, he caressed her jaw.

"On the contrary. You can say I've been…hungering for it," he drawled richly. Emma drew in a small breath, her hips twitching ever so slightly. It was good to know he had such a desirable effect on her. "Would you like to come in from the cold?"

He opened the door wider for her and stepped out of her path. Emma bit tentatively on her lip before slipping past him, into his territory. He wasn't all too sure if he would release her. She gazed about the cluttered living room as he shut the door.

"So…how should we do this?" She gestured a finger back and forth between them.

He smirked at her lingering discomfort. It would be fun to break her completely, to have her shed that discomfort once and for all in his arms. The warmth of their New Year's connection was sleeping dormant inside her. It was time to reawaken it.

"My only standard is that I receive a kiss from you, Emma. How you do it…where you do it is up to you." And by where, he meant her choice of environment. The kitchen, the bedroom, the shower…the possibilities were endless. However, he wouldn't settle for anything less than a kiss on the lips.

He leaned his cane against the wall and spread his arms for her. The robe slipped from his shoulders, but neither one minded it. The excitement thrumming through his veins reminded him of the thrill of having her frisk him in the diner's kitchen. Skin itching to be touched by her fingers, lips waiting to join together with her own…

Step by step, Emma approached and placed her hands against his chest. It swelled beneath her fingers, the beat of his heart pounding just underneath the surface. From his chest, her hands moved along the silky material to his neck and then upwards still, tracing either side of his face.

Her lips parted as her head craned forward…

"Wait," he interrupted just as her mouth was an inch from his own. Her breath tickled his bottom lip. She looked up questioningly, no doubt wondering if he had changed his mind. No such luck. One of his fingers traced the curve of her lip, making her shiver. "Just one question before we begin. Why come tonight?"

She shook her head in bemusement. Was there some small detail she expected him to be aware of? There had been nothing special about this day at all until she knocked on his door. A trivial smile twitched on her lips.

"You don't remember, do you?" He reeled his head back, wracking his brain for any piece of information she was referring to remotely. Had she perhaps said something on New Year's Eve? He didn't think so. "It's your birthday…_Gold."_ She put extra emphasis on his Storybrooke name.

The light bulb clicked on. Ah, yes—it was Mr. Gold's birthday, though no one in town ever celebrated it. At least, it would be once midnight hit. Oh, wasn't Emma quite the little vixen? Giving him an early birthday present.

A glimmer of enticement made those emeralds shine brilliantly.

"Any other questions?" Emma arrogantly cocked an eyebrow, though they both knew the answer to that question already.

In one swift incline of the head, her lips latched onto his. Bliss poured hot through his veins, warm as a tropical ocean as he gathered her up in his arms and kissed her back hard. A soft moan came from one of them, but the source was irrelevant. Blood pounded in their ears as Emma's arms encircled his neck, silently begging him to come closer. Fingertips dancing along his chest, her mouth opened up to allow him all the access he could ever desire.

He wondered if his ears were malfunctioning when he heard his name fall from her lips between kisses. Gods, he hoped not—his mind was still struggling to decide whether this was a dream. If it was a dream, it tasted pretty damn good.

And then he came to the conclusion that he simply didn't care if he was dreaming. He might as well enjoy it.

Whirling with her in his arms, he pinned her body tightly against the wall. He used the new angle to his advantage and kissed her until they nearly ran out of air. Tearing his mouth away, he savored the cherry red shade of her lips and her soft panting. A trail of kisses down her neck, his fingers playing with the hem of her jacket….

It would do better on the floor.

She seemed to agree as she thrust away from his mouth long enough to strip free of its restriction. And then he gratefully went back to invading her collar-free neck. _This had better not be a dream_, he groaned inside his mind. Otherwise, his estate was going to be quite miserable when he awoke.

He had completely lost himself in the subtle scent of her hair when a sharp click interrupted their moment. That sounded odd. Pausing in nuzzling her neck, he glanced down to find a silver bracelet clasped around his wrist. He smirked.

"Is this the part where you handcuff me to my bed and torture me with my special birthday present?" His voice was raw and husky, betraying his intolerable lust. Emma tried to shield the desire from her face, but he saw through it like glass.

Nonetheless, she was trying to act unaffected by it, frustratingly professional. _Oh, Emma. You and I were starting to have fun. _

"No, this is the part where I'm forced to arrest you for breaking and entering into Mr. Clark's shop in theft of $106 worth of Apollo bars. And $2 for the robot claw." Circling him, she cuffed his other wrist. He could sense her resistance; she didn't want to arrest him, but she had to lest she risk her job.

Kneeling to the floor, she pulled something out of her leather jacket. It was a folded bunch of papers. At least until she unfolded the bunch in front of his face and he recognized it for what it truly was.

"Turns out Mr. Clark installed cameras after Ava and Nicholas robbed his store one too many times," she said, fanning the photos before him. One showed him entering the store, another of him grabbing two candy bars at a time with the robot claw. He cursed inside his head.

"I left an IOU on the counter," he offered, showing no true concern over the matter. Emma stuffed the photos back in her jacket and gripped his elbow authoritatively. This was not how he expected to spend his birthday.

"There was also a witness to the break-in, apparently. He was only too happy to fill me in on the details," she informed him as she led him toward the front door. His mind was stunned as he tried to think of the weasel that might have seen him that night. Everyone had been inside the diner…except one.

Jefferson. This was his sworn revenge.

"Can't my arrest wait until the morning, dearie?" It was already midnight. The way he figured, it made little difference. It wasn't like he was going to skip town or anything. Besides, wouldn't it be something if he could convince her to stay the night?

"You know I can't ignore the demands of my job, Gold. If I did…" Her words trailed off. It didn't take a brain surgeon to imagine whose face Emma was imagining.

Even though the curse was broken, she couldn't risk handing Regina added ammo. Even more critically, ignoring the demands of the job would prove her irresponsible to the town.

"The Queen will fire you?" Her silence was answer enough. "Somehow, I sincerely doubt that. By the end of the week, she'll be out of office. All it would take from me is one little word and she wouldn't think of interfering with you again." Emma's grip increased on his arm. She didn't like talking about this.

"And if she doesn't listen to your special word? If she tries to expose me as some kind of biased, corrupt individual unfit to be Sheriff? What then?"

He shifted his head to view her over his shoulder.

"Don't you know me by now, Emma? I always have a Plan B." He gestured his head to the small table by the door.

Hesitantly, she slipped past him and opened the drawer. It contained only a manila folder with a few interesting snapshots of his own. Pictures of Regina in a tacky maid's outfit serving Grumpy and Nova like a petty servant.

Emma's eyes flew open wide the more she flipped through them.

"Blackmail?" She made it sound so distasteful. But he did not deny it. As was once said between them in his shop: she may not have approved of his methods, but the results were always favorable.

"Red's camera works wonders," he drawled. He jiggled his handcuffed wrists. "Unless Regina wishes everyone to see those pictures blown-up on poster board on every street corner in town, she'll behave. Wait until morning." It was almost a plea.

Slowly, Emma became weighted down by his reasoning and she deposited the folder on the table. She nodded. He couldn't possibly ask her to neglect it completely because it would go against everything good inside her, but he could at least ask her to prolong it for a while.

"Okay. But you're going down to the station first thing in the morning," she threatened, even wagging her finger. He hoped it would be after a special birthday breakfast in bed.

"Very well, Sheriff. Now, if you don't mind…" He turned around to let her view the handcuffs. Her boots thundered on the floorboards as she approached him from behind. A moment passed. Funny—those handcuffs weren't loosening up. Did she lose the key?

"I think I like you better with the handcuffs on," she teased, running her hands up along his silk-clad arms. Oh, so that was the kind of game she liked to play. He lost himself in her touch as her lips tickled his neck.

"I suppose that makes me your prisoner after all, Sheriff." It wasn't the worst fate in the world. Surprisingly, she unlocked the handcuffs. He rubbed the discomfort from his wrists as she tossed them away on the couch. Then she strode up to him and kissed him again.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," she admitted in a soft whisper as their kiss broke. She wore a delicate smile especially crafted for him.

Just to prove that he felt the same, he cupped the back of her neck and kissed her equally as longingly. He didn't know what time he swept her up in his embrace and led her off to his bedroom; only that it was after midnight.

Sometime during his late-night romancing with Emma, his phone vibrated on the kitchen table, presenting a new text message from Jefferson on its glowing screen. _Happy Birthday. _There was a smiley face for every year of his age.

….

_**The End. **_

_**I have a loose idea for a Valentine's Day story; if I can get it started, it should be up either on Valentine's Day or the day after. Thank you once again, everyone, for the encouragement to do it. Perhaps this one will be a bit more…intimate. **_

_**And I must thank my reviewers for all their wonderful comments—you have no idea how much it makes me smile! Here's to DaesGatling, Huntress4455, FortunesFavour, discotimelord, DragonRose4, la-stella-immortale, BundyShoes, and SwanQueen4055. **_


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